Blood Music
by Gone2Far
Summary: Going undercover in a gay dance club could be interesting. Will the guys survive it? Startling revelations of someone's past. Much angst.
1. Chapter 1

Blood Music

**Hello again. Here is a short prologue to whet the appetite. Chapter One will be up almost immediately, or as quickly as my little fingers and reluctant computer, Lyle, will go. I hope you find the story worthwhile. It will have some humor as well as the bad stuff. Rating will change to T in later chapters. Don't worry, nothing kinky but, as the saying goes: _A little slap never hurt anyone. _Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: Own nothing but Lyle and an '87 Olds**

Prologue

In a Field of Clover

The black SUV was parked at the edge of the field. Huge, shiny, ominous, it couldn't be there for any good reason. It was incongruous in such a peaceful scene; one that could grace the page of any of the springtime months on an inspirational calendar; the ones with psalms quoted under or on the photo. Other vehicles, mostly black and whites with their flashing lights along with the dreaded coroner's van also served to spoil the bucolic scene.

The deceased looked as peaceful as his surroundings. He was lying on his back, golden strands of his hair fanning ever so gently in the slight breeze. His eyes stared sightlessly at the luminous sky. If they weren't already starting to dull and cloud, he could be another of God's creatures enjoying the beauty of nature in the middle of a meadow on a spring morning.

"Farmer found him at daylight." said Lisbon as she walked up to her small group of agents after speaking with one of the uniformed cops at the scene. "I don't see anything that would indicate the cause of death."

There was nothing in particular to see, other than the body, of course. As had already been noted, the cause of death wasn't immediately apparent. There didn't seem to be any reason for the blond man to be lying dead; neither wound nor abrasion to explain his demise. He was nicely dressed. His light blue shirt was open; revealing smooth, marble white skin without a mark on it. On slender hands, nails were clean and trimmed, his face had the stubble that was fashionable at the moment.

If she was right, he was the fifth. They'd disappeared from bars and clubs all over Sacramento County. The latest lying dead in the middle of a field of clover, under a cool, clear sky. It was just barely light and the mist hadn't yet vanished for the day.


	2. Chapter 2

Blood Music

**This is a little longer. Hope you like it. All mistakes are mine and there's probably a few. I edited this in a rush. Let me know what you think; good or bad. I'll try not to cry.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did.**

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Chapter Two - Nada, (nothing)

Running late, the CBI consultant pulled up to the scene in his vintage blue Citroen and parked behind the SUV. Driving a thirty-year-old car made him something of an anomaly, but hey, his whole life was an anomaly.

He took a deep appreciative breath of morning air as he casually strode toward the taped off crime-scene and greeted his team members cheerfully. Not that there was anything cheerful about murder, but it was business as usual. It's why he had this job.

"So, what's up, Lisbon?" he called out to the senior-agent-in-charge who was also his boss and, to hear her describe it, his keeper.

"Looks like another one. If I'm right about it being part of the dance club murders. This would be the fifth."

Squinting his eyes against the shaft of sunlight that slanted through the trees bordering the field, Jane looked down at the corpse.

As before, there didn't seem to be an obvious cause of death. The medical examiner was still trying to pin down the C.O.D. for the other four and was taking his time with exhaustive tox screening which had, so far, yielded nothing.

Jane crouched down gracefully, balancing himself with his fingertips as he studied the dead man's peaceful face. This guy looked like the others: blond, good looking, well-dressed. Jane had . . . probably by the third victim; come to the unsettling conclusion that the dead men and he himself had physical appearance in common. Not that he'd considered himself good looking, well, OK, he did; but it wasn't entirely ego. It served its purpose and he wasn't complaining. Still, it was kind of eerie to so closely resemble the dead guys. A minute chill made the hair on his arms stand up as he calmly gazed at the man lying on his back.

There was nothing here either. No peripheral clues. No mysterious objects or forgotten items that could tie the corpse to the killer. No 'ahah' moments the TV crime shows are so fond of. Nada.

He leaned closer and sniffed carefully. He caught the scent of expensive cologne and something else, some sort of chemical smell. It wasn't something familiar and he couldn't place it.

He spend more time carefully observing details. The buttons of this man's shirt were undone nearly to his waist as though he was in the process of removing it or someone was removing it for him when he met his untimely end.

"Anything?" asked Cho, the taciturn agent who rarely spoke more than two words in a row, this being no exception.

"Um" Jane said and continued his exam. Finally, he dusted off his hands as he stood and walked toward the attractive, dark-haired woman with the badge clipped to her belt and gun on her hip.

They were just out of hearing range but she was busy speaking to an older man wearing a beat-up baseball cap. His skin darkly tanned. He was looking at her earnestly, his hands augmenting his speech in a non-verbal explanation as they cut the air with purposeful gestures.

"I don't know how, whoever it was, managed to get that poor guy all the way out into the middle of this field without anyone spotting him. Heck, that's not more than fifty yards from the road."

"So, you don't recall anything unusual last night, any sounds or something that was out of the ordinary?"

"No, ma'am. The dogs barked a few times around ten or so, but I thought it was just another possum or maybe a raccoon. They drive the dogs nuts. There's a lot of critters creep around here at night. Sometimes, some of the local kids like to come out and drink beer and smoke dope or whatever, but they don't cause any trouble. The local cops come and check up on them every once-in-awhile but there's never been any trouble I know of."

"Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Vega. We'll be here for a few more hours yet. We'll contact you if we have any further questions."

"Yes, ma'am. Just call me on my cell phone if you need me for anything else. I'll be out somewhere on the place. There's always something that needs tending; it never ends."

The leathery brown man tipped his baseball cap at the small group and took his leave, walking toward an ATV parked a few yards away in the tall clover grass.

"I thought they all drove tractors." said Jane as he watched the man walk toward his vehicle.

Lisbon didn't bother to reply to his comment and turned toward him questioningly. "Find anything we should know about?"

"Not a thing. Whoever the killer is, he or she is good at what they do.

"I was afraid you'd say something like that."

"Well, I can't be amazingly perceptive all the time. Even I have my off days."

"Your 'off days' have turned into an 'off week', but no one seems to have done any better. The M.E. still hasn't come up with the cause of death for the other four and it looks like this is going to continue until someone can come up with a fucking clue."

"Well, there was an odd chemical smell that I can't quite place."

"Like what?"

"Don't know, haven't ever come across it before. Smells kind of like . . . " Jane furrowed his brow and stood with arm flexed in front of him and his hand in characteristic gesture as he tried to come up with a description of the scent, "bananas mixed with alcohol or some sort of solvent."

"Alcohol? You mean like booze?"

"No, rubbing alcohol."

"Hmm" was all Lisbon could say. It was going to be another long, unproductive day.

Jane's notice of the strange scent was the only information to be gleaned from the scene. Since said information wasn't anything tangible at the moment, at least until Jane could pin it down, there was absolutely nothing new . . . other than the body.

The ground was too dry and grassy to maintain a definitive footprint. The body had no I.D. on it, no jewelry or anything else that could point to the victim's identity. They'd probably have to wait until someone came looking for him. Someone worried and distraught searching for a loved one and, ultimately, finding their worst nightmare.

All the photos had been taken from all the angles and the body zipped into the blue plastic bag and placed in the coroner's van. The scene had been thoroughly searched. There was nothing left to do but return to the office and try to go over whatever clues, or lack thereof, could be discussed.

The day was sliding its way into the early evening by the time the black S.U.V. pulled into the parking lot. The blue Citroen pulled in a few minutes later.

Jane had driven back by himself. No one was ever foolish enough to be his passenger. "He doesn't actually drive a car.", said a pale Rigsby after his one and only commute with their consultant, "It's more like he aims it."

Jane entered the bullpen a few minutes after the others, noting the lack of energy and the generally dampened atmosphere of the room.

"Hey, we'll come up with something." he said with forced cheerfulness

"When hell freezes over or Oakland wins the pennant", said Cho with his customary lack of verbal or physical animation.

"You all need something to cheer you up. Anyone for a chocolate dipped strawberry?" asked Jane as he produced a white paper box from behind his back and set it on the corner of VanPelt's desk; as he lifted the lid to display its contents.

Rigsby, immediately, went over to grab one of the juicy treats; his eyes alight in anticipation. He thought as he savored the sweetness,_ Jane's really weird. One minute he's everyone's worst nightmare, the next, he's being nice and almost . . . normal._

VanPelt daintily took one of the berries from the box and smiled her thanks at their grinning consultant. _He can be so nice sometimes_, she thought, _when he's not being a dick._

Even Cho stood up and walked over to take one of the chocolate coated berries and walked back to his desk to enjoy it. _Jane could be OK sometimes,_ he thought,_ when he manages to control himself._

Jane produced a paper napkin and plucked out the largest berry left in the box and walked toward Lisbon's glass enclosed office. He knocked before entering; she'd gotten on his case for the hundredth time about just barging in; he was making an effort.

She looked up from her computer, her dark brows forming the question before actually voicing it. When he placed the treasure on her desk, she actually smiled. _He could be so sweet, when he wasn't stirring shit._

He stood in front of her desk looking, she thought, _like a puppy that had brought its master a ball and was expecting to be told that he was a 'good boy'._

_Nah,_ Lisbon changed her unvoiced thought,_ more like a feral cat with deceptively silky fur that made you want to pet it but, if you got close enough, it would bite._

"What's this for?"

"Well, for you, of course, but I brought some for all of us. Everyone seemed so down about not having a lead on the 'Club Killer' as the newspapers so christened him or her, I thought a treat might help."

"You really think it could be a female?" said Lisbon as she bit a tiny piece of the strawberry and let the chocolate melt across her tongue.

"Not very likely. First of all it would have to be a really strong woman; like maybe Kendra in the evidence room. I've seen her lift a fifty pound bronze statue without even so much as a grunt. It wound up as evidence because it was used to drop on some poor guy. I know she could make minced-meat out of me and maybe even Rigsby if she took the notion."

"Well, don't piss her off. Just in case."

"She's actually kind of scary."

"Don't worry, Jane." she laughed, "I'll protect you."

"You always do, Lisbon." he said with uncharacteristic tenderness.

"So", she said, changing the subject, "It has to be a guy, right?"

"I think that while the murders may point toward the typical "woman's crime", intimate contact and subsequent death, possibly by poison, I think it's a male. Since all of these guys disappeared from nightclubs, specifically gay nightclubs, it's probably a safe bet."

"Uh, I've been meaning to talk to you about a plan to catch this guy." said Lisbon, a little hesitantly.

"A plan? How wonderful. Something devious, I hope. Perhaps you've been spending too much time with me. Maybe my ways are rubbing off on you."

"Don't get too excited. Wait 'till you hear what it is."

Jane looked at her expectantly, a smile creasing his face.

"Have you noticed that the victims all seem to resemble each other?"

He nodded in assent, waiting for her to explain what would most likely be the predictable scheme.

"Have you noticed that they all sort of resemble you?"

"Yeah, that's a little disturbing. Are you saying that you want me to go undercover? That could be fun."

"That's what I'm getting to. You seem to be a very 'secure' man." she said carefully, "Would you have any problem posing as a patron of a gay nightclub?"

"Well, first of all, thank you for noticing my heterosexual vibe, but no, I wouldn't have a problem. Aren't I a little old for this?"

"When you actually get some rest, you look pretty good for an old guy. With the right wardrobe, I think you could pull it off. The age range for the victims seems to be anywhere from late twenties to late thirties."

"Does this mean that I get to go clothes shopping on C.B.I.'s dime? I don't think I have the proper wardrobe for this adventure."

"Yeah, I guess, but don't get carried away. You know the state is pinching every mortgaged penny right now."

Jane just smiled innocently and was already making plans in his head about which shops he would be visiting to find the right 'disguise' for his undercover assignment. He'd have to check in with Barry first. He's the guy at the flower shop on the corner a block from his apartment. Barry would probalby be glad to give him suggestions on the appropriate attire for clubs. He was always nicely dressed and made no attempt to be anyone other than who he was. Jane still wasn't quite sure how to react when Barry's pupils dilated as they'd conversed the times he'd stopped in to make a purchase.

"Ask the others to come in here, we may as well start making plans. There doesn't seem to be anything else that's going to help catch this guy."

Jane opened the glass-paned door and whistled loudly for the others to look up from their assorted tasks and beckoned them with a gesture to Lisbon's office.

They filed in with questioning looks on their faces, well, at least Rigsby and Vanpelt's faces. Cho's face, as usual, gave nothing away. They found their seats in the chairs across room her desk as Jane plopped himself on the cream colored couch and lay back with his fingers laced behind his head.

"Jane would you please sit up for this meeting?" asked/ordered Lisbon in her 'official' voice.

"Yes, mother." replied Jane as he came to an upright position and swung his legs to the floor. _What difference did it make if he sat up or not?_

"We're going to have to put ourselves out there to catch this guy." she began "Some of you may or may not be entirely comfortable with the plan I'm about to lay out for you and, if you can't go along with it, you need to tell me now so that I can make other arrangements." Her gaze seemed to be directed toward Rigsby and Cho.

"Jane has agreed to go undercover as bait in one of the clubs."

"Bait" said Jane under his breath as if realizing for the first time that there may be actual danger in what he'd agreed to. Everyone knew that their consultant veered wildly between not giving a damn if he wound up getting killed or was absolutely terrified that he might.

Rigsby's eyebrows shot up and he looked toward Cho to see if the taciturn agent had a reaction to the plot but, of course, there wasn't even a flicker on his smooth Asian face.

Jane had always thought Cho was the epitome of the cliched, and possibly even derogatory term 'inscrutable' when it applied to Asians. Cho's calm, expressionless demeanor worked well in interrogations. The agent was as tough and dry as last week's bagels and could be intimidating if you were on the other side of the table.

"What needs to happen is Jane going undercover in a gay bar. That seems to be the kind of place from which, at least, four of the victims disappeared. Except for the last one, who hasn't yet been identified, they were all last seen at various clubs here in the city and in outlying suburbs."

Rigsby's eyes got rounder and VanPelt did her best to suppress a smile at his reaction. Jane just sat nonchalantly on the couch as he watched the others.

"As you may have noticed, the victims all resembled one another and they all somewhat resembled Jane. Blond, attractive . . . "

"Lisbon, you think I'm attractive? interrupted Jane, his smile growing wider and looking like he was having fun trying to make her blush.

She only shot him a look and kept on going but her pale complexion did seem to acquire a little more color.

"Yeah, I could see the physical similarity between the vics and Jane" volunteered VanPelt. "The murderer seems to have a 'type'."

"Creepy" said Cho

"Well, we'll have to keep a close watch on our bait. As you know, he isn't exactly trained in self-defense techniques."

At that statement, both Cho and Rigsby let out amused huffs.

"Hey!" said Jane with, possibly, feigned hurt.

"Anyway" continued Lisbon in a louder voice as she gave the three men withering looks, "Someone is going to have to go into the bar with him as his partner to make sure he stays safe."

"Do you mean partner, as in boyfriend?" asked Rigsby with a knot of dread in his stomach.

"Yes, you have a problem with that?" asked Lisbon with a stony look.

Umm, no . . . no way . . . I mean, I don't have a problem with it.

Working with Jane could be entertaining or annoying depending on what mood the blond man was in and how obstreperous he wanted to be. Though he was so very good at disguising it, everyone knew Jane wasn't the most stable person but, he was brilliant and they cut him a lot of slack because he closed cases . . . and he'd become a friend.

"OK, Cho you're going to be assigned to go in with Jane this time; and" she looked pointedly at Rigsby, "if it becomes necessary to go back a second night, you will be going with him."

Rigsby just nodded and looked a little queasy. Young men were sometimes too sensitive about proving and defending their masculinity and the tall agent hadn't enough years under his belt to know that, ultimately, one's deeds were what mattered, not their orientation.

They worked out the detail of the operation. Jane and Cho would go together as a couple. Jane was to make himself as visible as possible, within a reasonable context, and they would hopefully draw out the suspect.

Lisbon wished they knew what had killed the victims. If they knew, they could take specific precautions to guard against it. She was worried a little about Jane. For all of his brilliance, the man sometimes had the sense of a doorknob when it came to personal safety. He'd come far too close to the edge of his own doom on previous occasions and couldn't be trusted to know when to keep out of the way.

Alright, we're done for the night. Everyone go home and get some sleep. We're going to be working late tomorrow night so make sure you modify any plans you've already made. Sorry about the short notice."

They filed back into the bullpen with Jane being the exception. He'd resumed his position on Lisbon's couch and was content to watch her work on the pile of paperwork before her.

"So, you think I'm attractive? We never got around to an answer."

"Jane." she said sarcastically, "You damned well know that everyone is mesmerized by your beauty, so stop fishing for compliments and just shut-up."

"I'm mesmerizing then?"

"Yeah, whatever! Don't you have some shopping to do?"

"I guess it would be a good time to go pick out my ensemble. Wanna go with me? We could make it a whole mall experience. The food court has some interesting cuisine."

"No, thanks anyway. Malls make my skin crawl."

"Oh, Lisbon . . . so butch in attitude, so feminine in aspect."

He rose quickly and ducked before the stapler bounced off the doorframe as he scooted out of her office. The others barely looked up.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood Music - Chapter Three - Bait

**Thank you so much for sticking with this story. Thank you also for the reviews and alerts and favorites. Sorry for the delayed update, but I was distracted by shiny things and lots and lots of work . . . oh, and the dog ate my homework. I didn't much care for the way the first two chapters came out. I hope this one is better. Please, please review if you feel like it. I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Lyle says hi.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, no hope of ever owning. No money, but what's new.**

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI

Cho pulled up to the front of Jane's apartment building and the consultant was already waiting at the curb. He nodded a hello and got into the car, automatically buckling his seat belt and glanced at Cho with a small smile; an unspoken thank-you for the ride.

The short drive to HQ had been silent. Lost in their own thoughts, neither had spoken.

It was uncharacteristic of Jane to be quiet. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, in fact, Cho was the only person he never felt the need to assault with words.

Jane always had something to say; talking was like breathing. The subjects ranged from the totally trivial to musings on the mysteries of the universe. Cho had perfected the art of tuning out what was unimportant and hearing only things relevant to himself or the current case. This time there was no need for the filter and the taciturn agent would take his blessings where he could find them.

It was past sundown when they arrived at HQ. The sky had abandoned any pretense of daylight and its feeble remains had faded into evening.

"Show time" murmured Jane as he exited the sedan and made his way to the entrance. Leaves and bits of debris swirled across the asphalt of the parking lot. It had suddenly become unseasonably warm and the wind that usually died down with the last of the sunlight was beginning to strengthen. It was probably a Santa Ana and it didn't bode well.

_This is going to be a weird night_, thought Cho, _in more ways than one._

A wolf-whistle from an anonymous someone on the night-shift greeted Jane as the elevators doors opened and he stepped into the hallway. He wore a close-fitting knit shirt with a collar and long sleeves that were pushed up over his forearms. He didn't think that he had quite the musculature to pull off short sleeves and, besides, he never wore short sleeves. The shirt was a muted teal to set off his golden coloring and grey/green eye color. The Levi's were moulded enough to show his trim body to its best. He'd chosen the outfit with care. He looked good. He knew it.

Both Lisbon and Van Pelt, (heck even Rigsby), stared at him open mouthed. They'd never seen their consultant dressed in anything other than his three-piece suit. The most skin he'd ever shown was when he'd taken his coat off and rolled-up his sleeves. He always wore his vest no matter the temperature. He wasn't wearing much less now but, some of the protective packaging had been stripped off. For him, this was near nudity.

The second man exited the elevator and it was Cho's turn to be scrutinized. He was wearing a red polo shirt and jeans that weren't particularly tight fitting. With his squarish, compact body, more muscular that Jane's, the short-sleeved shirt made sense.

"Hey" you didn't dress any differently than you usually do when you're off-duty." said Rigsby, sounding a little disappointed.

"I'm not the bait."

"Oh, yeah" said the tall man, grinning toward Jane who ignored him as he walked toward Lisbon's office.

They'd all gathered to go over the last-minute details and check the electronic equipment for any glitches. Both Cho and Jane were wired with nearly invisible communication capability; the listening device fit discretely inside their ears and the miniscule mics had been taped under the edges of their collars. In a darkened bar or broad daylight, no one would ever be able to tell.

Lisbon, VanPelt and Rigsby were already wearing a less expensive, less invisible, version of the same set-up which had a coiled wire that ran from the earpiece down their collars into their shirts. Jane liked to think of this as the 'not so secret service' version. The economy being what it is, the State of California would only pop for the bare minimum in equipment.

After testing and retesting the surveillance equipment and reconfirming any emergency codes that may be necessary, they exited Lisbon's office to gather whatever else was needed from the bullpen before heading out.

"OK" said Lisbon in her senior-agent-in-charge voice as she faced the small group in front of her, "everyone clear on what's expected? Any questions?"

"Do I get reimbursed for this outfit?" asked Jane "after all, I did have to buy something to show off my assets for the assignment."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and Rigsby barely managed not to choke on his last sip of his Slurpie.

"You look really nice, Jane" smiled VanPelt sweetly

"Thank you, Grace." replied Jane then added loudly toward the corner of the room, "It's nice that someone noticed, other than agent Hobsen." There was a slight male cough and several snickers from a distance.

They were good to go. Lisbon thought that Cho actually looked nervous. How he managed to look that way without changing his expression, she had no idea but, she could tell he was apprehensive. She smiled to herself and glanced over at Jane. He'd also noticed the reserved agent's seeming anxiety. The cheeky consultant was, no doubt, planning something uncomfortable for her most reserved agent. It wasn't often that Cho gave anyone ammunition for mind games and Lisbon knew that Jane wouldn't be able to pass this one up.

"Shut up", said Cho toward Jane, not even bothering to look up from his last minute check of the mic.

"What?" said Jane wide-eyed with his "Who, me?" look of innocence.

"OK you guys, knock off the crap, let's get this show on the road." With that, Lisbon walked toward the elevator and they obediently filed after their petite leader.

When they reached the elevator doors she motioned for Jane to stay behind and told the others to go ahead; she and Jane would meet them in the parking lot. The two stood in front of the elevator doors as they slid shut with a ding and the box began it way toward the ground floor.

"You have to take it off." she said turning to face Jane with a look of decisiveness on her face.

"Excuse me?" asked Jane, his eyes wide in confusion; not a look that crossed his face often.

"Your ring." She said her face still resolute.

"No." His right hand automatically went to his ring finger to grasp the gold band that had adorned it for so many years. His face hardened and he gaver her a look that said '_leave it be'_.

"It won't go with your cover, Jane. Don't worry, I'll hold it for you. I'll keep it safe."

"I can't." he said

She looked at him steadily, her gaze unwavering and he looked back at her with an unreadable expression, but he definitely wasn't smiling.

He glanced around to see if anyone could possibly hear their exchange and then looked directly into her emerald eyes. His facade of good humor was gone; a painfully earnest expression replaced it.

"Except when I was in the hospital," he said quietly and hesitated, searching for the right words before continuing "When I hardly knew my own name and they wouldn't let me keep it; it's never been off my finger."

"I know." said Lisbon, her face softening despite her resolution to keep it strong and unemotional. Sympathy shone in her eyes as she held her hand out for the ring.

Jane's struggle showed on his face; he held her eyes for a moment longer and then with a sigh of resignation, slipped it off and reluctantly handed it to her.

The thin, gold, band had come off more easily than he thought it would. He'd considered it part of his very flesh. It disturbed him that it could so easily be removed without blood or physical pain. It simply slipped off.

"See, I'll put it in my change pocket. It'll be safe. Don't worry. I'll give it back to you as soon as you leave the club, OK?"

She made a show of placing it into the small pocket on the front hip of her pants as he nodded grimly, his mouth in a thin line and then turned abruptly toward the elevator doors. He felt his eyes starting to burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinked them back furiously, hoping that Lisbon hadn't noticed. _How odd_, he thought detachedly, _of all things, this small circle of metal, affects me enough that I can't even hide it._

Lisbon would surely notice his reaction with just the two of them in the elevator. "Meh, this is taking too long" he said with what he hoped was the right tone of annoyance, "I'll just take the stairs. Meet you down there." With that he rushed off toward the stairwell door and quickly pulling it open, disappeared as it shut behind him with a metallic finality.

Lisbon stared sadly after him as the elevator arrived and its doors slid open. She stepped into the mirrored cubicle and unconsciously patted the pocket that held his ring. She'd be sure to keep it safe. She didn't want to find out how he'd react if it was lost.

She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts and focused on the task at hand. The elevator chimed that she'd reached the first floor and she strode toward the door that led to the parking area. It was time to catch a killer.


	4. Chapter 4

Blood Music - Chapter Four

Dancing With Angela

**Couldn't help myself. Had to post this bit. It was too fun to write. I know it's a little OOC for Cho, but pretend he's pretending.**

**Next chapter will take awhile longer. Some of you have made excellent suggestions as to where you'd like it to go. Still trying to decide. Please let me know what you think and feel free to suggest scenarios, I will read and consider them all. Would love to hear from you! Many of you are so creative. I feel very, very lucky to have such people read this story.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters except for Gary and the bartender. Not making any money from this. If I was, I'd be driving something other than an '87 Olds and my fridge would be stocked with as many forms of chocolate I could cram into it.**

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Cho and Jane drove together in the agent's nondescript sedan. Like the man himself, it wasn't showy but had an efficiency and solidness about it. The other three followed at a slight distance in the SUV.

The club was on the other side of the city in a seedy neighborhood of lofts in the process of renovation and warehouses that hadn't yet made the transition to gentility. They arrived in twenty-minutes and took another ten to find parking. Forced Heat was a popular club. There was a line snaking to the entrance as loud music vibrated out of the doorway where everyone's ID's were checked by a tattooed and formidable bouncer.

The mostly happy, expectant faces glowed in alternating colors as the neon over them flashed the name of the club in tasteful deco-style lettering. As the two stood in line they heard others greet the bouncer by name. Gary only nodded silently in reply and managed to look menacing without flexing a muscle. Both men showed their driver's licenses; were deemed acceptable and began the assignment.

The music was nearly a physical assault as it thumped through their bodies when they walked into the club. Cho was certain it was going to cause brain damage, hearing loss or some other internal mayhem from the concussive force of it. Both the dance floor and the bar that ran almost the entire length of the west wall were crowded. Ninety-eight percent of the patrons were male and there appeared to be a wide age range. There were a few female couples scattered here and there and no couples consisting of both genders evident in the elbow-to-elbow crowd.

Cho gripped Jane's upper arm in a somewhat proprietary manner as they threaded their way through the throng toward the bar. Jane thought it was probably out of nervousness rather than a show of 'couplehood' and smiled to himself. He was going to have some fun with this.

"Kim, honey, why don't you get me a drink? I'm thirsty and we haven't even worked up a sweat on the dance floor yet."

"Yeah, don't get your hopes up about the dancing . . . Patrick." Cho nearly growled as Jane smiled innocently before turning his attention back toward the dance floor.

After several tries, the agent managed to get the attention of the, mustachioed, bartender who was wearing a tight t-shirt with the club logo on its front. After a few more moments, two icy glasses of club soda with twists of lime suspended in the carbonation were set on the bar top. Cho slapped down some bills and handed Jane his drink.

"Thanks, honey!" smiled Jane to his partner.

Cho just grunted and shifted his eyes toward the dancers.

"You guys hear me?" came Lisbon's disembodied voice through their earpieces.

"Oh, yeah." said Jane as though in appreciation of his cold drink as he perused the crowd on the dance floor.

"Uh, huh" said Cho as though in answer to Jane and looking in the same direction as the consultant.

"The music is really loud even with the noise-cancellation feature so if you guys have anything important to say, speak up."

"Gotcha" said Jane as he turned toward his date. Cho almost replied with a formal 'affirmative' before catching himself and changing it to "Sure".

"Jane, time to dangle the bait." ordered Lisbon with a smile in her voice "Get out there."

Jane could hear Rigsby snicker in the background.

"Kim, let's dance."

Cho almost choked on his drink and then hissed, "I don't dance."

"Sure you do." grinned Jane, "I've seen you dance."

"Not with you!"

"Cho, dance with Jane!" ordered Lisbon through the earpiece; sounding for all the world like a mother scolding a child who refused to play with a younger sibling.

Jane took Cho's arm and tugged him toward the crowded floor. The look he was getting from the reluctant agent could have blistered paint but, Jane only smiled benignly and tugged harder to get them into the middle of the crowd. In time to the thumping boom of the base, the computerized lights floated patterns of color on the surging ocean of bodies.

_Thank God this is a fast dance,_ thought Cho,_ if it changes to a slow one, I'm going to deck Jane._

The undercover consultant in question began to dance in earnest smiling devilishly at his supposed partner. Cho began to sway somewhat stiffly from side to side looking as though he was just learning to walk, let alone dance. Jane rolled his eyes and moved sinuously to the music; surprisingly lithe and loose-limbed.

They danced the next two numbers of house-music and then went back to the bar to order another drink.

They stood looking out at the men in the crowded club, trying to discern which of the hundreds in the room could be the one man they're trying to lure.

"Anything yet?" asked the voice in their ears.

"There's hundreds of guys here could be it" said Cho in exasperation

"My boyfriend might be right on this one, Lisbon" said Jane "It doesn't look too promising so far."

"Well, get back out on the dance floor. You can't sell it if you don't put it in the window" said the voice.

"Thanks for the imagery" said Cho sourly.

"Shall we Kim?" said Jane gesturing toward the throngs of writhing bodies on the dance floor.

"I'm sitting this one out."

"OK" said Jane in surprise. It wasn't like Cho not to suck it up and just do the job. This must be harder for him than he thought. "I'll fly solo on this one. It doesn't seem that one needs a partner to dance here."

It was true enough, there were several single men, albeit the less attractive ones, dancing alone. In time to the music, Jane propelled himself back out onto the floor.

The music thumped and vibrated through his body. He began to move in time to its meter; hips in sinuous motion; feet shuffling in place.

He'd always liked to dance. Angela'd told him he was a good dancer. He'd chosen to believe her even though he knew he could have done almost anything and Angela would've applauded. Of course, she hadn't approves of some of the things he'd done, no one would've, but she'd always known what to say to make him feel good.

He was able to think about her without the smothering pain that usually came with it. The blasting music seemed to fill the void usually occupied by that too familiar feeling. The very loudness displaced it and the guilt and anger that was with him every moment of his pathetic existence. He closed his eyes. An almost beatific smile came to his face and he began to spin . . . round and round . . . spinning and swaying.

He abandoned himself to the beat, extending his arms out to the sides with his palms turned upward in a supplicating gesture. He spun in place as the multicolored lights danced over his skin and across his eyelids and the music thudded through his body.

So long ago they'd danced in the fields under the stars; sometimes in the tent after everything had been shut down for the night and they'd both stolen away to meet clandestinely in the darkness. Most times there was no music but that which hummed in their blood as they held each other and swayed in silence. They didn't need music. They didn't need anything but each other.

He remembered being in a club with Angela after they'd been married for awhile. They'd gotten a sitter and had made it a date night. Her chestnut hair was loose about her face, her dark eyes shining as she laughed at his antics. The music pounding and primitive; the lights skimmed fluidly across her body; the strobes catching her in tableau's of animal grace and breathtaking beauty. He saw her face now, smiling and mischievous . . . he spun and swayed.

Just the two of them on the dance floor. There may have been others, but he remembered only the two of them; their bodies in perfect synchronization. Eyes closed and plastered against each other during the slow dances; eyes locked on one another and moving rhythmically during the fast ones . . . it was intoxicating.

Growing up in the carnie, there was no time to be a kid, no time for clubs and dancing and, now, they were parents themselves. Things had been so rough for so long but, they'd have a few hours to be kids again for just awhile; like everyone else; like 'normal' people. He didn't have to be the 'boy wonder' for his father. He didn't have to be anyone but Angela's. She only had to be his . . . he spun and spun.

He surrendered to the music. He was with her again . . . just for the moment . . . just until the song ended . . . just for now.

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Cho watched Jane on the dance floor. He was envious that someone could get so into the music they could block out everything else. There must be a freedom to it he'd probably never know. No self-consciousness, no self-censure, (not that Jane was any good at self-censure anyway). He watched as the blonde man abandoned himself to the moment and the music and thought . . . _Must be nice_.

He didn't know that Jane wasn't alone . . . he didn't know that Jane was dancing with Angela.

The song ended as the music shifted to a different tempo. Jane opened his eyes and looked somewhat disoriented. Cho saw a brief flash of what looked like sadness until the consultant saw him standing at the edge of the dance floor. He smiled one of his huge, glorious, hundred-watt smiles and strode toward his partner. His face was flushed and sweat glistened on his forehead; his hair clung to it in damp ringlets.

From where he stood with his back to the bar, Cho saw many of the other men in the room staring at Jane in appreciation. He laughed to himself. Would Jane be horrified if he knew? Probably not, it would just reinforce his ego. He just seemed so sure of his attractiveness, so sure that everyone desired him. Cho secretly admired his self-confidence . . . _Must be nice._

Jane was back beside him. "Wow, that was great! You know, you really should try it Cho, err Kim. You don't even have to dance with anyone. Just go out there and let the music lead you where it will. So exhilarating!" said Jane breathlessly.

"Not gonna happen."

Jane just smiled his Cheshire cat smile, snatched the drink from Cho's hand and gulped down the coolness. Everything about Cho was control and moderation. So self-contained, no conflict, black and white . . . _must be nice,_ thought Jane.

"Thanks for the drink sweetie; I was parched. Great exercise." said the consultant, still trying to slow his breathing as he wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and stood shoulder to shoulder with his partner; their backs to the bar.

Cho just looked at him with the usual disdain and turned to order another club soda to replace the one Jane had swiped. _Jane is enjoying this a little too much_, he thought. He was slightly suspicious; the guy dressed too well to be straight, well, except for those ugly brown shoes.

It didn't matter anyway. Jane had somehow become a part of the unit, a part of them, and they protected him - sometimes even from himself.

It was time for the drama. It was almost midnight and they'd seen no one in particular who stood out as a murderer. Not that the guy would have a sign around his neck reading 'Psycho-killer. Arrest me, please'.

There were actually too many guys who seemed interested in CBI's bait. This was going to be a long process unless something of significance happened.

"I saw you flirting, don't deny it Patrick!" said Cho in a loud, angry tone.

"What do you mean, I wasn't flirting with anyone!" Jane replied equally as loud in whining denial.

"You so were! Remember who you came with!"

"Oh, please, how could I forget? You've been a wet blanket all night. You're never any fun anymore! All you want to do is stay home with your fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe. All you need are hair rollers and a fucking cat in your lap!"

"Fun? . . . Fun! . . . " said Cho doing his best to make his normally deadened voice rise at the end of each word. "I work all day, I'm tired when I get home and all you want to do is go out dancing. Maybe if you'd go out and get a damned job, you wouldn't feel like partying all night. At least one of us has to work!"

"You know what, fuck you! If I wanted to live with an old man, I could've found someone with more money!"

"Yeah, well fuck you too! Why don't you just go find someone else, Patrick! Your getting a little old to be somebody's boy-toy in case you haven't realized it! I don't need anymore of your crap! I'm outta here!"

_Old! _thought Jane,_ that was a little low. Who knew Cho could be so catty? _He also thought he heard muffled laughter in his earpiece.

With that, Cho turned away and marched off toward the exit. Lover's quarrels certainly weren't anything new to a dance club, gay or straight, and everyone who'd been watching the noisy display lost interest almost immediately. No one had thrown a punch, no one had ripped any clothing; it was just business as usual.

Jane watched Cho disappear into the crowd and then turned abruptly back to the bar; signaling to get the bartender's attention and order something with alcohol in it. He ordered a screwdriver and leaned with his back against the bar while he sipped it and surveyed the crowd. He stayed that way for nearly half-an-hour, occasionally speaking toward the mic in his collar.

"Hey, you guys, no one seems to be interested. I'm getting a complex here."

"Don't worry, honey", came Rigsby's voice, "You've still got it . . . somewhere."

Ignoring the remark, Jane asked "How much longer do you want to play this? My feet hurt. These shoes are killing me. The sacrifices one makes . . . "

"Quit whining Jane. Guys are such wusses. Beauty **is** pain." said Lisbon's voice in his ear. "So maybe your mojo isn't working tonight. Let's give it another hour. If nothing comes of it, just means you're back tomorrow night with a different date. Gotta play the field." With that she turned toward Rigsby and raised her eyebrows.

"Hey, he's not my type!" he sputtered and though she couldn't see it in the dim lighting from the street lamps outside the SUV, she knew he was blushing.

"Hey, here comes someone", Jane's voice sounded apprehensive. Then, all they could hear was the music.

**Sorry to end this so abruptly. It was getting too long and I have another story to complete before someone lynches me. Does this qualify as a cliffie?**


	5. Chapter 5

Blood Music - Chapter Five - I Will Survive?

**Hello lovely readers. Again, I thank you all for your kind reviews, alerts, favorites . . . and encouragement. This chapter is still set ****in the club. Haven't been to a club in a long time. Doing this from memory. I hope it doesn't disappoint anyone who still gets to go out and whoop and holler and dance the hoochie-coo. Unfortunately, I had to become a productive member of society, (we all have to get there sometime, no matter how much we protest), and can no longer party 'till I puke. Do you want Rigsby to be Jane's next date or should we continue torturing 'Kim'? Please let me know what you think. Reviews are chocolate for my soul.**

**Disclaimer: Doing it for the hell of it. Don't own the characters, no money, no power . . . no justice . . . nada.**

A nicely dressed older man emerged from the nearly solid wall of bodies and walked up to stand next to him. The well-groomed man caught the barkeep's attention and ordered a rum and coke. His voice had a rich baritone resonance to it and he smiled with blindingly white teeth when his drink came and he paid for it along with a generous tip.

Jane noted his presence but kept his eyes toward the dance floor, swaying slightly to the beat that blasted out of the speakers and vibrated through the floor. As his eyes swept the surging ocean of bodies, a nice-looking guy of middling height, with a shaved head, tight black T-shirt and many rippling muscles beckoned him toward the floor with the crook of a finger. Jane took one last sip of the astringent drink, set the glass down and smiled to accept the invitation. The music, as usual, was something fast and thumping. As they danced, the consultant maneuvered so that he could also see the guy who'd been standing next to him at the bar. The man caught his eye and flashed a bright smile as he tipped his glass in a toast toward Jane.

Mr. Muscles wasn't much of a dancer. Bulk didn't necessarily make for grace or flexibility. Jane hoped that a slow song wouldn't suddenly start. He was secure enough to not let it bother him overmuch but, he just had no idea how one decided who would lead. Did anyone lead? Was there any hidden meaning in it? This was something he hadn't completely thought through before agreeing to the assignment. He should've asked Barry when he'd had the chance.

He tried some of his better dance moves; 'Dangling the Bait' as Lisbon had so quaintly termed it. As he moved his body in time to the pounding beat, he looked toward the man at the bar and flashed one of his own arsenal of smiles. Mr. Muscles took note of it and scowled but Jane just returned the scowl with a sheepish look and a shrug as though saying _what's a guy to do?_

From feeling unwanted only moments earlier; he now had two suitors from which to choose. His dance partner didn't strike him as a likely suspect. Earlier, he'd seen the heavily muscled man standing with a group of guys on the other side of the room. They seemed to be having a great time, lots of conversation and laughing. Just a night out on the town. It didn't seem to fit the pattern of someone on the hunt for a victim. On the other hand, the older guy at the bar was a definite possibility.

The song seemed to go on forever but, finally, ended with a tempo change and they left the dance floor. Patting his dance partner on his broad shoulder, Jane gestured with his other hand toward the man at the bar motioning that he was going to join the older guy. Mr. Muscles smiled tightly then turned and made his way back across the floor. He rejoined the small group who were apparently laughing at him. Jane had a feeling that he'd just shot the guy down. Oh, well, there was certainly no dearth of men in the club who may be better suited. He wished the guy luck.

"You're quite the dancer." said the older man as Jane came to stand beside him. He had expensively cut, salt and pepper hair and pricey looking clothing. A Rolex glittered on his wrist.

"Thanks, it's been awhile. My partner . . . err, well . . . my ex-partner", said Jane with a dismissive shrug, " wasn't much into it so, I'm probably a little rusty."

"No, you were quite good, very graceful, very . . . rhythmic."

Jane just smiled and raised his hand to get the bartender's attention. It took a few moments as the bar was crowded with the many seeking re-hydration after sweating all over the dance floor.

"May I buy you a drink?"

"Uh, yeah sure" Jane was now getting the slightest bit uneasy though it didn't show. He continued to smile at the man next to him.

"My name is Jerry." said his new acquaintance with a friendly grin.

"Patrick" said Jane, extending his hand.

Jerry shook his hand firmly as he ran his eyes appraisingly over Jane's body. The knit shirt now clinging to his body with sweat and the form fitted Levi's were apparently the right choice.

Jane had the very odd feeling of being looked at like a rabbit the coyote had decided was lunch. _This must be how women feel sometimes_, he thought, while smiling back somewhat coyly at Jerry; seemingly flattered by the older man's attention.

"What are you having?" yelled Jerry over the music which seemed even louder than earlier if that was even possible.

"Screwdriver" Jane yelled back.

Jerry placed the order for a screwdriver and another rum and coke. The drinks came almost immediately and Jerry handed him the vodka-o.j. mixture. Jane took a small sip and smiled over the edge of the glass to thank him then looked out toward the dance floor again. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jerry looking at him with an eerie intensity. For some reason, his stomach seemed to knot and he wanted very much for this to be over.

He'd decided going undercover was only fun for so long. He knew that the team had his back but he certainly wasn't relaxed about the situation. This was getting too real. What if this guy was the one they were waiting for? What if he wasn't?

Suddenly, a new song came blasting out of the mammoth speakers mounted high-up near the ceiling. It was apparently a very popular number. Shrill whoops and yips rose in the steamy air and nearly the entire bar moved as one onto the dance floor.

Jane recognized the song as one from his so-called 'childhood years'

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

It had wafted on the dry, dusty afternoon air while he'd cleaned up after Daisy. His dad had decided his boy could make himself even more useful in his spare time by earning a little money cleaning up after the ill-tempered animal. Of course, it may have been his father's way of keeping him out of trouble. He did seem to have an affinity for it, even at that early age.

Difficult as she was, he'd actually liked Daisy. His dad wouldn't let him have a pet. Even if she could crush him should she take a notion to do so, an elephant was better than nothing. In the few times he'd gotten to interact with the town boys, he'd really impressed them when he told them about Daisy. No one had a pet anything like her. They could keep their dogs and cats and turtles and hamsters . . . he had an elephant! Take that, you stuck-up, snot-hole bastards!

After the unpleasant chore was completed and he'd obsessively washed up, he'd made the usual pest of himself by incessantly questioning the unfortunates who'd wandered into the path of the curly-haired, deceptively angelic looking boy.

He'd learned the forsaken girlfriend of the carnie's transport manager had been playing the same song over and over on her cassette player. She'd been staying in one of the trailers on the other side of camp, the one that was supposed to be for equipment but was the 'love nest' as his dad had called it. He knew the manager usually kept his lady friends there until he tired of them and they went away.

He'd boldly sought her out to ask what the song was and she'd told him. Her face looked sad and tear-stained. He noticed the battered suitcase standing beside the door when the skinny blonde answered his knock. She was just the latest of the needy girls who'd followed the handsome but sleazy man across the countryside. She wasn't the first . . . and even at his young age, he knew she wouldn't be the last. He'd thought to himself that he wouldn't ever treat a girlfriend like that, they were always so sad looking. He never wanted to make a girl look that way. He'd just become aware of the brown haired girl; the daughter of the man who owned most of the big rides and the carnie itself. He couldn't ever imagine making Angela look so sad. It just wasn't right.

The precocious ten-year old had taken the song title as a mantra for himself in one of his more self-pitying moments as he shoveled elephant dung. He'd never bothered to learn the words to it.

CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI

He wasn't aware the familiar song had become almost a gay-anthem at clubs everywhere and had remained so until this day, but it brought unexpected memories with it. He snapped back to the moment as the humidity in the room rose to rain-forest level and hundreds of bodies thrashed, gyrated and sweated to the old-time disco beat. It was like being in a crowded gym . . . well, from what he'd heard of gyms, he'd actually never been in one.

"So, Jerry, what do you do for a living?" yelled Jane over the din.

"I'm a doctor."

"Wow" said Jane doing his best to sound impressed. "What kind?"

"The kind that can get the best drugs." said Jerry matter-of-factly with a straightforward look at the blonde in front of him.

"What kind of doctor is that?"

"I'm a psychiatrist."

"Oh, how nice." Jane's stomach just took another turn. _This couldn't be good._

"Would you like another drink, Patrick?"

"Ahh, not just yet thanks. Still working on this one."

They stood watching the dancers for awhile then the anthem ended and most of the crowd returned to the bar area.

"Hey" said Jerry with a smile, "It's too noisy and crowded in here, why don't we go somewhere quieter where we can talk?" He stressed the word 'talk' and Jane knew that talking was not what Jerry had in mind.

"Ahh, sure, lead the way." The light in the room seemed to waver for a moment but it could just be the programmed lighting reacting to a new tempo. He didn't think he'd had that much alcohol and he'd watched Jerry carefully when he'd handed him the drink. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He shrugged it off to dehydration and followed Jerry toward the exit.

"Hang on for a moment." Jane yelled to Jerry, "Forgot my jacket."

Jerry smiled and stood waiting at the doorway as Jane quickly threaded his way back toward the bar.

"Hey, you guys, what do I do now?" he said into the mic, trying not to convey the panic that had suddenly and irrationally gripped him.

"Just follow him out, we'll be waiting." said Lisbon's voice in his ear.

"You'd better be." said Jane, "I think Jerry wants to do more than talk and I may have to defend my honor."

"Don't worry, honey." said Rigsby's voice, "You won't have to put-out . . . well, only if you want to."

Jane only rolled his eyes and didn't reply as he made his way back through the crowd toward Jerry waiting for him at the club's entrance. Because of the city's noise regulations, the door was now closed and Gary sat on a stool just outside. He looked like a large gargoyle on his tall wooden perch.

"Forgot, I didn't even bring a jacket." said Jane looking sheepish as the man chuckled at him and put his hand on his shoulder to guide him out the door.

Something wasn't right. When he moved his eyes, the scene didn't flow smoothly. It shuddered and wavered before finding its place in his vision. Jerry took his arm to lead him down the, now empty, street that seemed to trail like a ribbon into the distance. He could feel the warm wind on his skin but he shivered in spite of it.

"You OK?" asked Jerry solicitously.

"Umm, yeah, I think so." answered Jane unsurely.

"Maybe you've had a little too much?"

"Maybe." said Jane. He was now beginning to feel a little nauseous. The music from the club became momentarily louder as the door opened behind them and then muted to a vague rhythmic vibration as it closed.

The street suddenly seemed to become even darker, the glow from the blinking neon fading away, the ground beneath him beginning to undulate.

_What was the safe word? What was it? _It was in there somewhere, almost on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite bring it to the front of his brain.

He felt a hand steady him as he began to sway on his feet. Something was definitely wrong. He could hear that song again but wasn't sure if it was real or only in his muddled head.

What was it called? _Oh, yeah . . . 'I Will Survive' . _He didn't hear the sound of footsteps rushing toward them or feel the impact of his body hitting the warm pavement . . . just the song echoing in his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Blood Music - Chapter Six

**Hello again. Here's a longer chapter. It was written in fits and starts which is pretty much how I live my life. I apologize for any errors, they are all mine and I never claimed to be a great proof-reader. Thank you to Purple Piggie who's a gold-plated muse. Thanks to all of you who've reviewed and favorited and messaged your encouragement, especially Elanordh. Would love to hear what you guys think of this chapter, even if you don't think that much of it; let me know. I'm tough. I have a computer I fight with every day . . . Lyle says hi BTW.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned them (which I don't), and made money from this, (which I don't), I could happily die in a vat of chocolate.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Close, But No Cigar

"Freeze! On the ground!" barked a familiar female voice.

The hand let go of his arm and he collapsed into a boneless heap; not feeling the impact when he hit the ground.

_Such a strange feeling, like being here and not._

Rigsby and Cho kept the older man in their sights as he obeyed the command and carefully got down on his knees and just as carefully lay down flat on the warm concrete with his arms out from his sides. He looked familiar with the procedure.

VanPelt had her cell out and was calling for paramedics in a hurried breathless voice as Lisbon knelt beside the nearly unconscious Jane.

As Jerry lay calmly prone on the sidewalk, he said "He'll be OK" with a dismissive tone as though having someone crash to the ground in front of him was an everyday occurrence.

"What did you do to him!" demanded Cho; looking down the barrel of his gun with the frighteningly focused concentration of a border collie.

"Nothing that will have a lasting effect, relax." Jerry just laughed as he turned his head to look into the wide gaze of the man lying next to him. Jane was now desperately gasping for breath.

_Oh shit_, thought Jerry, _this wasn't supposed to happen._

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The beat from the club seemed to pound up through the concrete into his body. It was that song. He detatchedly wondered if that was true. Will he survive? It was so hard to breathe now.

There was an elephant sitting on his chest. As he lost consciousness he had the irrational thought, _Daisy? Did Daisy get loose again? His dad was going to be really pissed. He'd have to warn Angela to be careful. He'd have to . . . . _the night swallowed him.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Rigsby walked up with the shotgun that was always kept locked to the dash of the SUV. He leveled it at Jerry's head and pumped the action, it made an evil, frightening, deadly sound. His blue eyes were as cold as the Pacific and less forgiving.

"What did you give him!" he snarled, making sure that the barrel of the gun was within Jerry's line of vision.

No one moved. No one was completely confident that Rigsby wouldn't shoot the smug sleaze bag. Jerry, however, was **_absolutely_** confident he was about to meet his maker. "No! Please don't shoot! It was Ro . . . Rohypnol!" he stammered.

Jane, unconscious now; his breathing almost a pant as Lisbon and VanPelt carefully rolled him onto his back. Lisbon put her fingers against his neck and felt a rapid but weak pulse.

"It . . . it looks like an allergic reaction. I only gave him a little . . . honest! This wasn't supposed to happen!" Jerry's smugness was now nowhere evident. "Tell the paramedics that he's going to need some Flumazenil." Jerry was completely panicked. If this guy died, he'd be up for a murder charge . . . that is if that tall asshole didn't shoot him first.

"I'll tell them your recommendation, now shut the fuck up!" said Cho as he kicked the man forcefully in the ribs and satisfyingly heard the little weasle cry out in pain.

"Cho!" warned Lisbon even though she'd thought of kicking him herself but had marginally better control.

The wail of the sirens grew louder and suddenly the buildings on both sides of the street were glowing alternately red and blue. The squad cars and the ambulance that had stopped in the middle of the street were quickly exited by their occupants.

"What do we have?" asked the young EMT with close-cropped red hair as he kneeled next to the man on the pavement who was struggling to breathe.

"He's been drugged." answered VanPelt as she scrambled back to let the paramedics tend to him.

"An O.D.?" asked the medic; his voice a bored, dismissive drawl.

"No, attempted murder, he was undercover. He's a cop." Lisbon bit out tightly as she flashed her shield in front of the self-righteous little twerp.

"Sorry, we heard officer down, but he looks like just another queer from one of those bars on this street."

"I assume you extend the same professional skills to all victims?" said Cho with subtle menace. He didn't like this smug bastard.

"Uhh, yeah, of course."

The other medic, older and dark-haired, was quickly unpacking the needed equipment from their large metal box. He looked at his partner warningly. The guy was already on thin ice with him. It would serve him right if the Asian guy or the tough looking little woman kicked his ass. A few days ago, the two medics had a discussion about who 'deserved' their services. The older one was already negotiating for a new partner as quickly as possible.

Lisbon spoke up to tell the medics about the possible allergic reaction to the Rohypnol and Jerry's recommendation. The dark-haired medic nodded to acknowledge the information and immediately contacted the hospital.

Jane was barely breathing now.

The red-haired twerp efficiently established an IV and connected the tubing to a bag of saline.

"He's going south fast. Let's get an airway started!" said the other medic

After conversing with the hospital, the redhead reached into the big box and pulled out an ampule of clear liquid, quickly popped the cap and inserted it into the IV port. Tilting the unconscious man's head back, they quickly inserted the airway and connected the inflatable bag, compressing it to pump air into Jane's lungs.

"Let's roll!" the two said almost in unison.

Rigsby and Cho assisted in lifting the consultant's body onto the transport gurney along with the many pieces of equipment.

VanPelt took care of Jerry, cuffing him and hauling him to his feet without bothering to be gentle about it.

Without asking, Lisbon hopped into the box-like ambulance and placed herself in the far corner to give the medics the room they'd need to work on their patient.

"Which hospital?" asked Cho as the door closed and the dark-haired EMT took the wheel.

"Sacramento Memorial" was the answer as he flipped the switches for lights and siren and quickly accelerated away. The siren slowly grew fainter as the ambulance distanced itself from the small group.

VanPelt silently said a prayer as it screamed into the warm dark night.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

As predicted, it had been close but, after receiving the drug to counteract the Rohypnol and supportive measures for the allergic reaction, Jane had come back to the world in a remarkably short period of time. The rest of the team hadn't yet arrived. Lisbon had been hurriedly summoned to calm down a very confused and combative consultant.

When she dashed into the treatment room, he was struggling with two nurses and the doctor who were trying to keep him from rolling off the gurney and detatching the many tubes and wires that were now connected to his body.

"Jane!" she yelled sharply as she rushed to the flailing man and put her hand on his chest to push him back down, "Knock it off dammit!"

He stopped struggling at the sound of her voice and his wild eyes focused on her worried face. She could see him trying to make sense of where he was as he slumped back onto the gurney with a shuddering sigh.

"Where?" he rasped shakily

"Where are you? You're in the hospital, Einstein." said Lisbon, her own heartbeat trying to return to normal after witnessing the panic and struggle.

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"An elephant."

Lisbon looked at him with concern. He certainly wasn't going anywhere yet. She knew he'd try to escape as soon as he was able to stand on his own, but she'd make sure they kept him here as long as necessary. _Elephant?_

"Are you going to stay put and let these nice people make sure you're OK?" she asked the still confused man in a gentler tone, rubbing her hand in soothing circles on his bare chest. She just noticed that they'd cut off his shirt and it was lying in a pile with his Levi's and shoes in the corner.

He nodded at her without speaking then laid back and closed his eyes. The presence of her hand on his chest seemed to reasure him.

The medical staff looked at her with gratitude and resumed their duties, motioning her to stay with the patient until they were certain he wouldn't begin to struggle again. People coming out of bad drug reactions were unpredictable. They had no interest in a rematch.

As Lisbon had surmised, within a couple of hours of returning to consciousness, Jane began to whine about getting out of the hospital. He insisted he felt better and would be just fine if they let him leave but, the staff strongly discouraged his desire to escape

After several more hours, they'd pretty much had enough of his whining. His exasperated caregivers asked Lisbon if there was someone who could drive him home. They acknowledged he was still acting a little weird but, would probably be 'more comfortable' recovering at home.

She assured them he had a ride home and was no weirder than usual. They quickly agreed to release him; even providing a faded scrub top to replace the shirt they'd had to cut off.

After spending most of their night in the ER, Jane, Lisbon and the rest of the team, (who'd arrived after booking Jerry for assault and attempted murder), left the hospital in the early morning. The sun had already come up; the dust from the dry winds filtered its light into a dramatic, orange-pink, Technicolor sunrise.

No one was happier to see it than Jane as they trudged across the still warm asphalt toward the SUV and Cho's sedan parked next to it.

As Kimball Cho had predicted, it had turned out to be a weird night indeed but, ultimately, a rewarding one. Their bait had survived, they'd caught the killer. Yup, it was good . . . even if he had to dance with Jane and endure being called 'honey' and Kim.

"You going to be OK?" asked Lisbon turning toward Jane, who was stilll pale and drawn from his encounter with the miracles of modern chemistry.

"Yeah, just a little tired. Nothing that some rest and a couple of pancakes won't fix." He turned toward the others with a tired smile. "Thanks for the great party, guys . . . can't say much for the refreshments though."

"You should have stayed a few more hours to rest like they wanted you to." said Lisbon, concern on her face as she eyed her bedraggled consultant.

"Rest? Have you ever tried to sleep in a hospital? It's impossible, people come in every few minutes and poke you with needles and annoy you with stupid questions, then they tell you to get some sleep . . . Please! . . . I could get more rest in the center median of the Santa Monica Freeway. Besides, I think I've donated quite enough blood for the moment. They can't possibly have that many tests that require my blood. I think Bella Lugosi must be lurking in a back room somewhere and is sending his minions in to bring back some snacks."

"I'm sure they were only doing their job. After all, you did almost die, Jane." said VanPelt

"Meh, I can't die until I've killed Red John and written my novel." The three other agents turned to him at the mention of Red John, trying to decide if he was truly lucid. _Joking_ about the serial killer wasn't something he usually did. Maybe the drugs hadn't quite worn off.

Lisbon just tried to ignore the ache behind her eyes as she hit the unlock button on the key and she, Rigsby and VanPelt climbed into the vehicle; their movements slowed by exhaustion.

"You dropping off Jane?" said Lisbon to Cho who stood with keys in hand about to unlock the sedan. "Make sure you take his car keys, we don't want him wandering around yet."

"Lisbon, I'm not a child!" whined Jane . . . like a child.

"Just shut up Jane and cooperate with Cho." Lisbon snapped; her patience with her consultant now completely depleted.

Jane rolled his eyes and looked toward the Asian agent.

"I have to see my date home. It's only polite." said Cho without any trace of a smile.

Rigsby looked surprised and the two women waved abreviated good-byes as Lisbon backed the SUV out of the space and quickly exited the hospital driveway.

Cho got into the driver's seat and waited for Jane to enter and belt himself in. The consultant moved somewhat stiffly. Perhaps it was from all the dancing but, most likely, from hitting the pavement with a thud. He didn't remember it but his body had black-and-blue proof to remind him of his collision with the concrete.

Cho didn't start the engine immediately. He sat looking out the windshield for a moment before turning toward the blonde man in the passenger seat.

"Sorry man." he said

"For what?" asked the consultant, a crease between his brows.

"For letting that cheese-ball drug you. For not dancing with you."

Jane just looked at him in astonishment. He never expected Cho to apologize for anything, let alone the dancing thing.

"You don't have to apologize. You weren't responsible for what happened."

"I am. It was my job to to keep you safe . . . I fucked up."

"Cho, again, it wasn't your fault. I'm fine . . . though I did learn more about Rohypnol than I ever wanted to."

Jane smiled genuinely at the man next to him. "You may have a career in the theater though. I assume it was acting, but I didn't know you were so adept at going for the jugular."

"Learned from the best." said Cho looking at him with his usual deadpan but an almost undetectable smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

It was Jane's turn . . . "As for the dancing, I should probably apologize to you. Had I known it was going to be so difficult for you, I wouldn't have been so cavalier about it."

Cho was surprised though he'd never let it show. Patrick Jane had apologized . . . to him." The taciturn agent just nodded to acknowledge the rare apology and then said "It shouldn't have been that difficult. I know better."

"Don't worry about it, Kimball", smiled Jane, careful to use the agent's full first name, "We all have our faults and, according to Lisbon, I have hundreds . . . if not thousands."

Cho just nodded and started the engine. He was driving his date home. It was only polite.

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The new day brought many things. It brought sunlight and the smell of coffee and the sound of children in a schoolyard.

It also brought other things . . .

The body of the blonde-haired man lay on the wet grass of the soccer field. The sprinklers intermittently arced a graceful silver waterfall over his body. His face was peaceful. His hands were crossed over his chest and his blue eyes looked up at the cloudless sky.

The new day brought many things . . . this day . . . it brought death.


	7. Chapter 7

Blood Music - Chapter Seven

**Hello again. Finally got through another chapter, (a long one). Hope this helps to make up for the long time between updates. Jane finally gets to dance with Rigsby and there's an actual clue as to the identity of the killer. Hope you like it. Thank you for your reviews and favorites. You've been very kind. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. It just seemed to ramble without going anywhere in particular. The season-ender sort of took the wind out of my dilapidated sails. All mistakes are mine and there's probably a few.**

**Disclaimer: The characters are only borrowed. I will return them with nary a scratch. I make no money from this but, I don't usually make money from my hare-brained endeavors.**

Just When You Thought . . .

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"This one's Chad Switzer, thirty-five, probation officer, married, two kids." read Cho from his notes in his usual dry as bone-meal voice.

They were standing in the middle of the expanse of turf that made up the soccer field at the community park. As they stood, the sun rose higher in the crystal sky and beads of water clinging to each blade of grass sparkled like gems before beginning to evaporate with its warmth.

"Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water." muttered Lisbon as she scowled at the yellow plastic sheet that covered the latest victim; the aforementioned Chad Switzer.

It had been two nearly blissful days of feeling fulfilled, victorious, accomplished, downright elated that the "Club Killer" had been apprehended before the case against Dr. Jerold H. Miller had slowly come unraveled.

The body before them had, so very sadly and solidly, confirmed that Jerry was not the Club Killer. The smug sleaze-bag also had airtight alibis for at least four of the murders. He'd attended various out-of-town conferences and had the grudging statement of an ex-wife that provided the alibi for the fifth.

There was still the matter of the assault on and the attempted murder of one Patrick Jane. Jerry had managed to post a frighteningly high bail and was now on monitored house arrest until his trial. Lisbon hoped he would get the full ride for his crime but, she doubted it. He had enough financial resources to hire a very expensive legal team. O.J. would have been envious.

Lisbon just wanted the scum that had almost killed her consultant off the street. At this point it didn't matter if he was the Club Killer or not, she wanted him locked up for a very, very long time, or if that wasn't going to happen, then dead. She'd still not gotten over the sheer terror she'd felt when she saw Jane gasping for breath on the sidewalk. It still haunted her, though she wouldn't let anyone know. It was her fault. She should have watched him closer; she was in charge. Jane had almost died and she couldn't do anything to help but say a fervent prayer for his survival.

The consultant in question strolled up to the scene in his usual way. The limp from a bruised hip was almost unnoticeable but, he still didn't look quite as lively as usual. Truth be told, he wasn't looking forward to once again being the bait in their plan. Getting drugged and waking up in a hospital had, somehow, taken all the fun out of it.

The only thing he had to look forward to, other than possibly catching the killer, of course, was the fun of torturing his next date. He realized that karma, if one believed in such things, had bitten him on the ass for his amusement at Cho's expense but, Rigsby was just too tempting a target. This could be downright entertaining.

"Glad you could make it Jane." said Lisbon sarcastically, though with a little less heat than usual as he came to stand beside her.

"Sorry, not moving very quickly today, being roofied can do that to you."

"And what was your excuse the other twenty or thirty times you were late?" she said, raising her dark brows

"Many and varied, my dear." smiled Jane, "Some of them actually valid."

She huffed and said, "You mean you actually told the truth on a couple of occasions?"

"Well . . . yeh" he smiled lazily not seeming the least bit abashed nor even feeling the need to elaborate.

_Like trying to train a friggin' cat!_ she once again told herself as she fixed him with a half-hearted glare.

Turning back toward the victim, she began to fill Jane in on what he'd missed. "In case you haven't already figured it out, the unfortunate person you see before you is most likely victim number six. He was found this morning by the groundskeepers. Looks pretty much the same as the last few." she said almost dejectedly before adding, "Cho can fill you in on the details you missed because you didn't arrive in time to hear them."

He ignored the last little dig and bent down to look at the latest of the random blonde men who'd met their end in a still unknown way by the still unknown hand of the Club Killer. This was getting tiresome. How could six men die in the same mysterious way? What was the method? What was the motive? Was there a motive? Was it just someone who didn't like blonde guys? Was Brad Pitt a prospective victim?

Jane did his usual examination of the body and its surroundings. This was starting to seriously creep him out . . . not that murder wasn't creepy in its own right, mind you, but why did all these guys so resemble each other and why did they all so resemble the guy who stared back at him from the mirror every morning?

As before, this victim had no more to give than the others. He sighed and the crease between his eyes became deeper. There had to be something he was missing. What the hell was it? The only thing he'd managed to come up with was that unidentified smell. He shook his head and walked away; other than the dead guy, there was nothing new here.

"Jane!" Lisbon called out as he walked across the damp grass toward his car. He stopped and turned to look at her resignedly. "Looks like we're going out again tonight. We've got nothing else to go on. You up to being bait again?"

She'd asked but, he knew it was only rhetorically.

"I need a new shirt. The last one got ruined by the EMT's."

"Yes, Jane, by all means, go get yourself another shirt. Make sure to save the receipt."

"Yes, mother."

"Meet us at eight-thirty. We're going to a club called 'Whatever' tonight. It's actually in Roseville; smaller club; should take about half an hour to get there from H.Q.."

"Whatever." said Jane mockingly as he strolled back toward his car while thinking, _I'm a fucking tethered goat just waiting for the lion to show._

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He'd gone back to the same store and purchased another shirt exactly like the last. Why mess with perfection?

Arriving before Rigsby, tonight's 'date', he'd gone directly to Lisbon's office where Cho and VanPelt were already checking over the equipment. As soon as the tall agent arrived, (wearing Levi's and a dark blue polo), they'd gone over and confirmed any necessary instructions and the safety word. Not that Jane had remembered it the last time thanks to the roofies but, if at first you don't succeed . . .

This time, without Lisbon asking him for it, he removed his ring and placed it in her hand as they stood in her office. The only one who seemed to notice his action was Cho who, of course, didn't comment on it.

Lisbon, once again, made a show of placing it in the change pocket of her Levi's and patted the pocket while looking into only slightly worried eyes. Last time, she'd given it back to him in the emergency room once she was sure they weren't foolish enough to keep him overnight. Just having it back on his finger had somewhat calmed his usual agitation at being in a hospital. It had probably given them a twenty minute respite before they, once again, wanted him gone.

The five rode the elevator down to the ground floor together. There was some of the usual banter, not all of it directed at Jane this time. Rigsby was fidgeting all during the short ride in the metal box and popped out as soon as the doors opened. He walked directly to his car and got in, waiting for Jane to catch up.

The consultant got in and fastened his seat belt. A slight drizzle dotted the windshield of the shiny blue Mustang as they drove out of the CBI lot. Jane thought the little car wasn't such a good match for one so tall. Rigsby looked cramped in it but, the lure of a "hot" car was strong for some males; particularly the younger ones still hunting for a mate. In the animal world, it came down to which male had the best display; be it feathers or painted metal. Some things would never change.

Jane was almost relieved he didn't have to concern himself with such things any longer. He'd already found his perfect mate and would never seek another.

"So . . . what 'tips' do you have for this gig?" asked Rigsby as he turned the windshield wipers to a faster setting. The drizzle was getting heavier and turning to actual rain. The unexpected precipitation had taken the county by surprise. It had been such a brilliant day but had begun clouding up as it became nightfall. The embarrassed local weatherman was now predicting heavier showers throughout the night.

"Tips?" repeated Jane, not quite comprehending where the tall man was going with his question.

"Umm, yeah. Like what sort of behavior is expected?" asked Rigsby, sounding at least a little uncomfortable.

"Wayne, we're not going to a foreign country. People do speak English there and wear clothing and shoes and everything."

"You know what I mean."

Jane just turned in the passenger seat to look at his partner for the evening. He smiled benignly and thought that perhaps, rather than baiting him, it would be more productive, (and less fun), to reassure him.

"Wayne, just be yourself . . . well, just be yourself and act as though you're attracted to men instead of tall, red-haired, female co-workers."

This remark was met with a glower from the driver. Even though VanPelt had moved on, the hurt was still too recent for Wayne Rigsby. Maybe in a couple of decades it would be easier . . .

"Sorry, that was a little low . . . even for me." apologized Jane. "Just keep in mind that everyone is there to have a good time, maybe do a little drinking, dancing, flirting, maybe get lucky. Just like any other club."

Rigsby grimaced at the "get lucky" part of Jane's statement. This was going to be a long and stressful night.

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The drive to Roseville had taken all of forty-five minutes in the downpour that flooded roads not designed for water run-off negotiated by drivers who had no idea how to handle rain-slickened streets. They'd become separated from the SUV and parked near the front entrance of Club 'Whatever' to wait for the rest of the team.

As the tall man shut off the ignition and the wipers magically folded back into their hiding place after making one last sweep of the glass. Rigsby asked his companion of the evening, "Aren't you nervous?"

"About what?" asked Jane, then quickly answering his own question, " Possibly getting killed? Hell yes. I'd be really stupid not to be nervous, considering my last ah . . . adventure."

"That's not what I mean."

Jane turned to look at Rigsby in the dim light and his face creased with amusement. The consultant's clear eyes locked on the reddening face before him. The agent turned to look out the window.

"Never mind."

"Rigsby, if you're asking me if I'm nervous about going into a gay nightclub, no, I'm not."

"But . . . "

"It's like going to any club, gay or straight. No one's going to do anything you don't want them to . . . well, provided you don't get something extra in your drink."

Rigsby just looked at him dubiously.

"And, no, I'm not gay."

"I . . . I wasn't going to ask!" sputtered the detective

"You know you were wondering." said Jane evenly, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Rigsby now blushed a bright crimson visible even in the dim interior of the Mustang and looked down. He didn't really want to be having this conversation. It's not that he would think any less of Jane . . . well, he didn't think he would but . . . for some reason, he wanted to know. Perhaps it would might make his own fears lessen? This wasn't going well already.

"Why are you so damned relaxed about this?" he finally blurted out.

Jane looked at him appraisingly, not speaking for a moment.

Making his decision and nodding slightly he began . . . "When I was just a kid, maybe thirteen, fourteen, I had this friend; we'd grown up together. There weren't that many kids around the carnie, at least, not my age. Apparently, people thought that living in trailers and moving to a new place every few days wasn't a good way to raise kids . . . go figure."

Jane smiled faintly before his face became thoughtful and somber. "We were close; almost like brothers. We got into a lot of trouble together . . . ", his voice trailed off as he burrowed deeper into the memory. "One day he just disappeared."

"What happened to him?" asked Rigsby, his voice softer as he recognized that Jane had gone somewhere else.

The blonde man took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before continuing, trying to find his center before venturing into painful territory. "They found his body a couple days later. He'd been beaten to death by a couple of yahoos from town who were looking for someone to gay-bash."

"I'm sorry." said Rigsby, sympathy on his open face.

"He never told me." shrugged Jane as he looked out at the rain drops splatting on the windshield, "Or at least, if he did, I probably chose not to hear it. I don't know how I'd have reacted back then. I was just a dumb kid . . . you know how kids are."

Rigsby nodded his head.

Jane looked up brightly, seeming to throw off the dark memory, "So, needless to say, I don't have an issue with an 'alternate lifestyle' as the euphemism goes. He was just a kid, a friend, and he didn't deserve to die because someone didn't agree with the way he was made."

The SUV carrying the rest of the team arrived behind them and its headlights brightly lit up the interior of the Mustang as it parked. Both men seemed somewhat startled by the sudden daylight brightness of the halogen headlamps and squinted at each other in unspoken understanding before reaching toward the door handles.

This club was on the main drag of the little suburb. People holding umbrellas or various things made of something they considered waterproof over their heads strolled in front of it. Most were on their way home or to one of the restaurants that remained open to catch the late-evening crowd from the movie theater and some of the other clubs on the street.

The consultant eased out of Rigsby's car somewhat gingerly. The bruise on his hip bone was still tender. He doubted he'd be doing a lot of dancing tonight. He wondered what Lisbon's report of the last foray would be: _Consultant Jane injured in the line of duty dancing in gay nightclub and subsequently ingesting date-rape drug before landing on face prior to being transported to hospital._ Should be an entertaining read for someone.

_'Whatever'_ was another popular club; not quite on the scale of _'Forced Heat', _it seemed to cater to a slightly more subdued crowd. The line at the door consisted of nearly an equal mix of male couples and female couples.

Rigsby stood a head taller than nearly everyone there except for the large woman guarding the door. Even without the tattoos, she could give Gary a run for his money in the intimidation department. What one would call a 'handsome woman''; towering and narrow hipped with strong looking arms, flowing blonde hair and a very large . . . err chest as both men noted. She stood in a rigid 'attention' posture beside the door as though she were guarding the Pentagon.

_She has to be strong to carry those around_ thought Rigsby as he was elbowed by Jane to remind him to close his mouth before she noticed the agent's stare. The tall man almost audibly snapped his mouth closed and looked down at Jane's amused expression.

"Sorry", he muttered quietly to the blonde man.

"You can take a boy out of the straight world, but you can't . . . " He didn't get to finish his statement. They were about to be appraised by the formidable Amazon.

Her eyes flicked over their I.D.'s and rested on Rigsby. Her face nearly at the same height as the agent's; icy blue eyes gave him a hard glare. Jane could see Rigsby's adams apple jerk as the tall man swallowed and met her stare.

Jane was actually impressed. Rigsby, despite his sometime gullibility, was no slouch in the 'tough' department himself. The woman with the line-backer body and the Helen-of-Troy face had his number and was going to make sure he knew it.

Despite the stare-down which, unnervingly, resembled an episode Jane had seen on Animal Planet about the social interactions of chimpanzees; they passed inspection and were allowed to enter. Once again, the noise of the music made concussive waves that crashed against their bodies as they walked into the club.

Rigsby seemed to pull it together and they made their way to the bar at the back of the room. The two bartenders, one male, one female, dashed back and forth in an exquisite ballet of efficiency as they filled drink orders yelled in their direction from the crowd on the other side of the mahogany bar.

Rigsby, mostly due to his height advantage, got the male bartender's attention and ordered a club soda and a diet coke.

It took awhile before the drinks came. Jane noted the time lapse. Even with two bartenders, it had taken several minutes. When they'd been at Forced Heat, it had only taken Jerry a couple of minutes to get their drinks; and that was with just the one bartender. _Hmm._

"You guys all set?" came the voice in their ears.

"Yup" said Jane as he carefully examined his club soda before taking a sip. One couldn't be too careful.

"Uhh, yeah" said Rigsby doing a double-take as his date winked at him over the rim of his glass, eyes twinkling at the tall man's nervousness.

"We're going to have a small change in plans." said the voice. "There are quite a few female couples tonight. I think it might be a good idea for 'us girls' to observe a little closer and keep a better eye on our bait . . . since it didn't go too well for him last time. I don't want to spend another night in the ER."

Jane rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink.

"We're going to have to ditch the not-so-invisible earpieces, since the state decided to be so chintzy with the good stuff, but Cho's listening closely to anything that may go on and we can still talk to you guys even though we can't hear you."

"I'm sure you and Grace will make a lovely couple, Theresa" said Jane smiling at Rigsby who now looked as though he may hyperventilate. Jane knew that his partner for the evening was overly concerned that the women, most specifically VanPelt, would witness his dancing with Jane. The tall man was not happy.

"Jane, time to . . . "

"I know the drill Lisbon" interrupted Jane as he took Rigsby's arm and dragged him out to the floor.

"Don't look so terrified, Honey", whispered Jane, "I'll protect you."

Rigsby only looked at him uncertainly but gamely began to dance as the colored lights swirled across the crowd and swept over the surrounding walls. Despite his size, Rigsby was a surprisingly good dancer. He garnered his share of attention from the male onlookers. Jane hoped that his reluctant date wouldn't notice and bolt for the exit.

After a couple of dances, out of the corner of his eye, he recognized VanPelt's red mane across the floor. Her petite companion sipped a drink beside her. They made a sort of Mutt and Jeff couple; probably not unlike almost anyone who paired with Rigsby. Though Jane was of average height, he was still very much shorter than his partner.

Rigsby had spotted VanPelt and looked miserably at Jane as though he wanted to just disappear into the floor.

As the change in tempo signaled the end of the dance, they returned to the bar slightly flushed from the exertion. They ordered fresh drinks and stood looking at the dancers. Rigsby tried not to let his eyes stray toward the two women standing at the other end of the bar. If he wasn't so nervous, the thought of the two attractive females as a couple could make for a titillating fantasy but, his heart wasn't in it tonight.

They danced a few more times and had another couple of drinks but, it was getting later and time to up the drama.

Jane started this one with "You can't tell me with whom I can or cannot speak, Wayne!"

"Yeah, if 'speaking' was the only thing involved, Patrick, there wouldn't be a problem! For once, can't you just keep your hands to yourself?"

"Well, when we met, you certainly didn't seem to mind my hands."

"I didn't know you were going to feel-up anyone you thought remotely attractive! Have a little control! You don't have to be such a slut all the time!"

"Slut! I'm not the one who dropped a nine-year relationship to run off with a new guy!"

"Well, if I'd known 'the new guy' I was hooking up with was a total sleaze, I wouldn't have left a good thing for you!"

"Wayne, you don't have to worry about my 'speaking' with anyone anymore. I've had enough of your spying, paranoia and jealousy! J. Edgar Hoover has nothing on you except she was probably better in bed!"

Rigsby's eyes became rounder with shock and he spit out the next line with real venom. "Fuck you, Patrick! If you spent as much time working as you do looking in the mirror, you wouldn't have to whore yourself out for living!"

"Good one." said Cho's dry voice in their ears.

With that, Rigsby spun on his heel and stomped toward the door. The crowd cleared a path before him, recognizing the look of someone who shouldn't be messed with, never mind the fact that he was half a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than nearly everyone else in the room. It would be like trying to stop a freight train.

Jane shrugged his shoulders at the people who continued to stare even though the fireworks were over. He could see Lisbon at the other end of the bar smiling proudly as though her child had just won a spelling bee. VanPelt looked shaken, even though she knew that it was all play-acting. This was a little out of her comfort zone. She and Rigsby made a good pair, it's too bad they'd broken it off thought Jane.

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She put the vial in her pocket along with the syringe. It was time to go hunting. Time to take what was hers.

He was still out there in that world. The music, the drugs, the dancing . . . that vulgar display; tempting and taunting.

Roger had fallen for it all. She'd begged him to stay home. To stay apart from the world that drew him toward it like a ship caught in a whirlpool; spinning him round and round as it dragged him toward its vortex and the blackness swallowed him.

He could have lived in comfort and safety with her. He'd have had the surety of knowing someone loved him more than life itself . . . would kill for him . . . would forgive any and all transgressions if he'd only come back to her.

The acidic anger that boiled in her blood had eaten through the boundaries of right and wrong long ago. There was only the need. He would pay. She would find him and he would pay.

She flexed her fingers to rid them of the tension that made her hands ache. She took one last swipe of the brush through her long blonde hair, carefully set the silver handled brush back on the tray on her dressing table, picked up her keys and made her way into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Blood Music - Chapter Eight

**Here's another one. Hope you like it. Have to get back to my other story now before the villagers come after me with their torches and clubs. Please, please review. I can take it.**

**Disclaimer: Characters are not mine except for Marla, Bob and a couple of others. I make no profit from this and am only entertaining myself by sitting up all night and writing 'till I pass-out.**

**All mistakes are mine and Lyle says high. He's just glad to be alive.**

Blondes Have More Fun

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Jane stood at the bar as the stares dissipated and everyone went back to whatever they were doing before their little fireworks display. This crowd was less amused by the faux confrontation than the crowd at _Forced_ _Heat_. It possibly had to do with the fifty-fify mix of male and female patrons. Perhaps lesbian women weren't quite so entertained by male stupidity as most other women seemed to be, or at least, seemed willing to put up with.

After several minutes, a tall, slender, dark-haired man approached to shyly ask if he wanted to dance. Jane accepted the invitation with a smile and a nod and they took their place on the dance floor. Once again, he moved fluidly to the thundering beat. His newest partner danced somewhat more sedately, his eyes downcast; only looking up occasionally with a hesitant smile.

_This guy looks like someone who keeps pet mice under his bed_ thought Jane. Not homely but, awkward, and uncomfortable in his own skin. They finished the dance and Jane nodded toward the bar, miming that he wanted to get a drink by tilting his curved fingers in front of his lips.

His bruised hipbone was beginning to ache again. The ibuprophen he'd taken hours ago had finally worn off and he'd just as soon spend his time leaning against a bar for the moment. His dance partner followed him off the floor like a puppy.

Jane needed to engage the guy in a little conversation to determine if he could be considered a suspect and quickly brush him off if he couldn't. He did have an odd sort of Norman Bates look to him, but none of the victims had appeared to have been stabbed while showering so that observation was probably of no help.

"What's your name?" Asked Jane and the shy man, looked down at the floor and answered, "Bob", adding nothing more.

Jane waved his arm to signal whichever bartender would look his way. This time it was the short roundish woman with dark curly hair and a smooth sweet face.

"Would you like a drink . . . Bob?" asked Jane thinking _This guy looks like he's afraid of his own shadow._

"Uh, no thanks." said Bob/Norman, his expression almost one of panic as it had probably dawned on him that he might actually have to make conversation.

_There's no way this guy could have even managed to __pick-up six guys, let alone kill them,_ thought Jane.

He ordered another club soda and as the bartender expertly dried the off the mahogany bar top she nodded her head to acknowledge his order.

He stood tapping his foot in time to the beat. This guy was definitely not the killer. How was he going to brush off Bob/Norman? Well, in this case, maybe honesty is the best policy.

"Bob" said Jane bluntly "You don't look like you're used to this sort of thing. Picking guys up in bars I mean."

"Uhh" was all that came out of Bob/Norman's mouth as even in the dim and chaotic lighting of the club, Jane could see the man's face beginning to furiously blush.

"It's OK" said Jane. "Maybe you should get a little more practice. Why don't you take a deep breath and calm yourself a little. It's not that difficult once you get the hang of it. I don't think that I'm the right guy for you anyway."

Jane patted the flustered man on the back and turned to pay for the drink that was placed on the bar in front of him. "Go mingle" he motioned toward Bob/Norman with a dismissive flick of his hand as he took a sip and looked over the rim of his glass with amused eyes. Bob/Norman didn't look devastated by the brush-off, just . . . resigned.

The shy man gave him one last tentative smile before he squared his shoulders and obediently walked in the direction Jane had gestured. _Poor guy, _thought Jane,_ his social life isn't going to be an easy one._

After another hour and a couple of dances with people who, like Bob/Norman didn't have the right kind of vibe for one on the prowl for another victim; no one seemed to be paying any attention to him.

He was still being appraised to be sure but hadn't been approached by anyone for nearly forty-five minutes. Once again, he was beginning to feel unwanted. His hip still ached and his feet hurt. Whining to Cho was useless. If he got any reaction from him, it would only be something sarcastic; _funny_, but sarcastic and most definitely - not sympathetic.

He was growing bored. This was not good. A bored Patrick Jane was a disaster waiting to happen. Just ask anyone who'd ever worked with him.

Jane didn't even notice the tall woman who came up beside him until she spoke. "Hey blondie" she chirped, and he turned at the somewhat familiar greeting. It was one he'd heard his whole life. Sometimes said in a nice way, sometimes not.

"I know that women are probably not your thing, but how about a dance? It doesn't look like either one of us is on fire tonight as far as partners go."

She smiled at him disarmingly. She was stunning. If she couldn't get a dance partner it was because the women here were blind. She brushed her hand through her long sandy hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear and looked at him expectantly with a sparkle in what looked to be hazel eyes - he couldn't really tell in the dim yet riotous lighting.

He would have felt ungallant to decline her offer. Surely, there weren't any unspoken rules about such things? He'd not seen any mixed-gender couples here but, there sure as hell wasn't anything else going on. It was boring just standing around waiting for something to happen. He accepted her offer.

Maybe Lisbon was right. He should have gotten more sleep before he came to work. He probably looks a little the worse for wear about now. He reached into his pocket and popped another couple ibuprophen. What could a dance hurt?

"I'm Marla." she smiled.

"Patrick" he smiled in return and was surprised by her strong grip as they rather formally shook hands. He assumed, she wasn't here to meet guys and a woman with the handshake of a lumberjack was perhaps a catch in this world but, he hated to play into stereotypes.

They joined the crowd on the dance floor. Once again, the bright dots of color bounced over their bodies and across the black painted walls and ceiling.

The DJ at this club had a slightly more eclectic take on what constituted dance music. This number had a deep base voice murmuring eerily in the background while a very high soprano screeched in the foreground. It sort of sounded like Barry White meets Charlotte Church via Yoko Ono. He'd give it a three but, you could dance to it.

Marla was a decent dancer but, she seemed to be a little more restrained than his previous partners, (except for Bob/Norman). After the second number, as she sedately swayed to the deafening music, she reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small vial. She un-capped it and took a sniff, then offered it to him. He took it and without actually inhaling, took a minute sniff. _There it was! That smell! Bananas and alcohol!_

"Great stuff!" he said, sounding enthusiastic, though not knowing what effect it was supposed to have and what the 'stuff' actually was.

"Yeah, I get if from the clinic where I work. Real amyl is hard to come bye. Most of the stuff out there is only butyl . . . but, I'm sure you know that."

"Uhh . . . yeah. Why go with the second rate stuff when you can get the real thing?" he smiled

"Exactly!" she said enthusiastically and gave him a bright and, he thought, somewhat coy smile. As a flash of amber light highlighted her face, he could see that her pupils were dilated so that her eyes appeared nearly black. _Hmm_

They danced awhile longer and she once again offered him the vial. He, once again, pretended to take a hit and handed it back to her.

"Hey Patrick" she yelled over the music. I've got some more of this stuff in my car. You wanna score a couple of vials? I'll make you a good deal."

He heard Cho's voice in his ear "Go with it."

_What? Why?_

"Marla, be right back, 'kay. Gotta hit the head first then we'll go make a deal. Wait for me?"

"Sure, sweetie. I'll be right here." she smiled and winked and tossed her hair. _Was she really flirting with him? This was a little weird considering the venue. Was this something he hadn't heard of: straight women pretending to be lesbians to pick up straight guys pretending to be gay? He didn't think she knew he was straight, even Rigsby hadn't been so sure. He didn't know whether to be offended. This was getting confusing._

He walked off in the direction of the men's room as he spoke into the mic. "Cho, did you hear that? What the hell is amyl? It's the same smell that I caught on that other body, the one out on the farm."

"Club drug." said the voice in his ear. "Been around awhile. They call it poppers. It can be amyl nitrate or butyl nitrate or a couple of others. Inhale it at the right time, it's supposed to enhance . . . things. Too much isn't good, especially amyl nitrate, it's actually a heart medication."

Jane would have to ask later how the Asian agent became such an expert on "poppers" but, right now, he had to get back to Marla.

"Isn't this something more along the lines of drug enforcement?"

"It's not actually illegal. You can buy it on the internet and in sex shops." Once again Jane mused_, How did Cho know so much about this stuff?_

"I don't know why but, I'm getting a very weird vibe from this woman. Something's not right."

"Well, couldn't hurt to check her out. Meet you out there."

He made his way back to Marla who was waiting for him where he'd left her. On the surface, she seemed normal enough but, there was a look to her he'd seen before. It was somehow familiar and . . . disturbing.

She smiled brightly at him and beckoned him to follow her. They made their way toward the exit. She reached behind her to take his hand. It was probably not to lose him in the crowd as they fought their way toward the exit but, he wasn't so sure.

In the last few hours, it had become shoulder to shoulder in club _'Whatever'_ and one had barely enough room to raise their arms over their head if so inclined. _A claustrophobe would have freaked_ thought the consultant as he was lead through the throng, Marla's strong grip on his hand. It took a couple of minutes to reach the door.

Lisbon and VanPelt nodded toward him as he passed them with his new friend. They waited a couple of beats before casually walking toward the exit a few paces behind their consultant and his companion.

"We're right behind you." said Lisbon's voice in the earpiece.

The senior-agent-in-charge would be glad to get outside. The bright dots of light that careened over the room were enough to cause a seizure she thought. Perhaps she was too old for the club scene.

Long ago she'd heard a saying that, sadly, must have some truth to it: "_If it's too loud, you're too old!"_ In any case, getting out of here was going to be a relief. She thought she could feel her eardrums beginning to bleed.

Jane followed Marla out the doorway, waving to the bouncer still standing at attention at her post. She only stared icily back as he smiled at her. _Oh, well, can't charm everyone._

As the rain had lessened once again to a fine drizzle, Marla strode quickly down the wet sidewalk. The neon from the storefronts reflected in impressionistic splashes of bright color on the slick concrete. It was actually quite pretty thought Jane as he strode beside the woman who'd set a brisk pace. Lisbon had always said he could be distracted by 'shiny things'.

"My car's just around the corner" she said '_Whatever's'_ pretty busy tonight. Sorry, couldn't find anyplace closer."

"A walk in the rain can be quite refreshing." said Jane as the sound of their footsteps bounced off the walls and solid surfaces they walked past. It was late and the street was deserted now. There wasn't even any traffic, only the lonely traffic lights still blinking their authority to the empty street. The sodden air held the stillness one felt only in the very early hours before it was stirred by the sounds of people and machinery as daylight enabled their travels.

They turned the corner. It was very dark on the side street. The feeble street lamps were few and far between and there were none between the corner and at least halfway down the quiet residential street. After getting nearly all the way to the end of the short block, she suddenly stopped at a vehicle parked at the curb as Jane almost bumped into her in the darkness. She searched through her pockets for her keys.

"Dammit!" she muttered as he heard them clink when they dropped onto the concrete. "Could you see if my keys landed near you? I'm just so clumsy sometimes. At work, they've nicknamed me 'Grace'. Always dropping something or tripping." her laughter was a little too loud, a little too manic for the occasion and Jane was growing increasingly uneasy. Something about her . . .

He looked down to see if he could spot the gleam of metal on concrete. It was very nearly pitch black as he concentrated on his search; distracted from the actions of his companion. He didn't hear the slight sound as she un-capped the small bottle she produced from her pocket. He didn't hear as she shook some of the liquid onto the cloth she pulled from her other pocket. He was still searching for the keys when, from behind, she pressed the cloth over his mouth and nose. He held his breath and fought to force her hands away.

Her body was pressed onto his and he couldn't pry her hands loose. She was frighteningly strong. He struggled against her for several moments more but the exertion used up his oxygen and he finally had to take a breath as his chest ached and he was beginning to grow dizzy just from the lack of air. He could feel the effects of what was probably chloroform almost immediately.

The night got darker.

Lisbon and VanPelt hadn't witnessed the scuffle. They were just rounding the corner when the van pulled away from the curb with a screech and accelerated into the wet night.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Blood Music - Chapter Nine

**Thank you for your lovely comments, reviews, alerts and for listings in your favorites. It's quite a thrill when that happens. Lyle is being a bad computer machine and has decided to screw with me once again. I finally got this chapter posted but considering the hoops I had to jump through to get this accomplished; I should join the circus. All mistakes are mine and, as usual, there are probably a few. Please review if you are so inclined. I will show them to Lyle so that he can see what he's missing.**

**Disclaimer: Once again: no ownership, no money, no justice**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Beautiful Madness

He could feel movement beneath him. His cheek rested on something rough. Carpeting?

He cautiously opened his eyes as flashes of reflected light seemed to fly over his head. Was he still in the club? There was no music. Couldn't be the club.

There was enough room for him to lie flat. He was in an SUV or a van. He could feel the vibration of the engine through the floor and the unevenness of the pavement they rolled over. Who was driving?

He tried to bring his hands under him to lever into a more upright position but was surprised to feel the chafing of something around his wrists. His hands were bound behind his back and he was lying on his stomach. This was not good.

He did his best to think the situation through before letting his captor know he'd even awoken. They drove for what could have been minutes or hours; his mind was still too muddled to track the time. A wicked headache seemed to go with the nausea that threatened to overcome him. Throwing up while lying on one's face was a very unpleasant thought. He did his best to quell the rebellious feeling in his stomach.

The car slowed as though it was going to come to a halt but, suddenly his body slide toward the left side of the of the vehicle as it made an abrupt right turn and then bumped along what seemed to be an unpaved road. The movement only made his nausea worse and his head pound even more fiercely.

The sound of the engine rose with additional strain and the transmission whined. The floor tilted as though they were ascending a steep incline. It only lasted a few moments before they leveled out and the engine became silent. He could hear the parking brake being set. This must be an older type of vehicle because it made that loud ratcheting sound.

A door to his right slid open and hands dragged him out onto what felt like a rough gravel surface. He sprawled out awkwardly and would have landed on his face but a strong hand caught him by the hair and kept him from falling face-first onto the crushed rock.

"Don't want to mess up that pretty face, Roger. No, no, no; that won't do at all." It was Marla's voice but the playfulness was gone. There was a keening desperation to it that made him flinch from its sound. He wondered if the team was close enough to pick them up on the mic, assuming that it was still working and that she hadn't discovered it taped to the underside of his collar. Where were they? Where was the team? They were supposed to make sure nothing would harm him. Lisbon had said they were right behind them when they were about to leave the club.

Marla drug him to his feet and he staggered on the wet, crunchy surface in the direction to which she pushed him. She had one hand on the back of his collar and with the other, she held onto his belt from the back.

He could smell that damp grassy/weedy scent of open land. He saw lights in the distance but there seemed to be none in close proximity. He was still dizzy and could make no sense of the darkness around them. Without anything to focus on, his footing was even more unstable. Without her hold on his belt he would've fallen more than once. Their feet continued to crunch on the gravel as she half pushed, half pulled him along toward a small, dim light.

They went up some steep concrete steps and she made sure he didn't lose his balance and fall away into the blackness. He could see nothing but that faint glow. When they got to the landing at the top of the steps, he could see that it was one of those little glass windows that were sometimes part of older styles of wooden doors. He could hear her fit a key into the lock and then the door swung open with a loud creak and he was pushed inside. He stumbled to his knees on the wooden floor. She shut and locked the door behind them and once again tugged him by his hair until he stood and she shoved him toward a lighted doorway.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Forty-five minutes ago:

They watched their consultant pass bye, his hand gripped by a tall blonde woman. He looked at them with a wide-eyed look that seemed to border on panic as he was tugged toward the exit. She raised an eyebrow at him and nodded reassuringly and the blonde couple disappeared into the crowd. She took VanPelt's arm and steered her toward the exit. The room was densely packed and they had to nearly shove people out of their way. She didn't want to be too far behind their bait, as she'd already told him, one night in the ER was enough.

VanPelt felt like a salmon swimming upstream as she and her petite boss fought their way toward the exit. They'd already lost sight of Jane and the woman.

"Cho, we're a little too far behind them. Make sure you and Rigsby keep an eye on Jane. I think he and a tall blonde woman are going out the front."

She couldn't hear any response because she had no earpiece but, she assumed that her second in command had heard her and that he and Rigsby were on it.

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The two bored agents sat in the SUV listening to the goings on in the club. Rigsby as well was wondering how his partner happened to know so much about the club drug called poppers. He knew that Jane was probably wondering the same thing. Cho had been a cop for awhile, maybe it was something he'd run across in the line of duty? Still, he wondered. The man gave nothing away. Cho was sometimes as much a mystery to him as the cases on which they worked.

The rain had lessened to a heavy drizzle as the temperature dropped and the windshield began to fog up. This was the really boring part of police work; sitting most of the night in a car and listening to other people interacting with life. Cho usually had a book with him to while away the time but, he already completed it and hadn't brought another. As the night wore on and on, Rigsby had been driving him crazy with his observations of the men and women who passed bye on the sidewalk.

_Rigsby's been around Jane too long_ thought the taciturn agent sourly. While their consultant had the unnerving talent of finding the minutest detail and drawing amazingly accurate conclusions, Cho felt that Rigsby was talking through his ass. After his tenth and most likely erroneous conclusion about the life of a passing stranger, Cho had finally told him to shut up.

Eventually, there wasn't even much foot traffic to observe. The Asian agent was glad when they were reduced to the silence of their own thoughts. Rigsby had already plowed through the assorted snacks they kept in the SUV for just such stake-outs. Gone were the chips, cookies, donuts and pretzels. He'd eaten the last of the peanuts an hour ago. _The man has to have some sort of condition,_ thought Cho,_ It's like being in a car with a giant termite._

The only sound through the ear-pieces had been an occasional observation from Jane about the people he'd interacted with and the monotonous thumping of the music in the background. They'd heard from Lisbon only once or twice and VanPelt not at all.

"Did Jane make you dance with him too?" asked Rigsby, breaking the silence he could no longer stand.

"You know he did, why?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to have a problem dancing with another guy."

"Yeah, and . . . "

"He said he's not gay."

"You asked him?" said Cho not believing that even his sometimes guileless partner had been rude enough to ask that question.

"No, he just told me. I didn't have to ask."

Cho just shook his head, not wanting to know where this conversation was going.

"I just think it's kind of weird that's all." said Rigsby in a hushed voice, even though his mic wasn't activated and they were the only ones in the car.

"That Jane isn't gay?"

"No, no. That's not what I meant."

"What do you mean? No, never mind. I don't want to know." said Cho in irritation, turning to look out the window toward the club entrance.

"That he doesn't have a problem dancing with another guy." blurted out Rigsby ignoring Cho's reluctance to take the conversation farther.

Cho gave his partner a distainful glance. "Dancing with some random guy would be weird, but it's Jane, he's on assignment and we were supposed to dance with him." he snapped.

"He's a good dancer." observed Rigsby

"Yeah"

"Didn't it make you uncomfortable?"

"I don't make a habit of dancing with guys."

"So that's a yes?"

Cho just turned to look at him. Rigsby was even more insecure with this than he'd been but, the tall guy didn't have to be ordered to dance with their bait. He just went along with the assignment in spite of not being completely comfortable in the atmosphere. The Asian man actually felt embarrassed that he'd been so freaked by it all. He was the one who could usually just suck it up and just do what was required but, he'd failed this time and he didn't feel good about it. In any case, he had no desire to continue this discussion.

Just then, his earpiece crackled with what sounded like Lisbon's voice. The transmission was broken and staticky and he couldn't make out what she was saying. He couldn't ask her to repeat it as neither she nor VanPelt had ear-pieces. Though he couldn't make out her words, the tone of her voice didn't sound as though there was anything wrong. He looked toward the entrance and saw no one he recognized. He continued to watch closely for a few more minutes and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it would be a good idea for him to go check on them. _The state was going to have to spend a few bucks and upgrade this crappy equipment if they wanted their law enforcement to be effective._

Just then, they heard loud yelling coming from the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Someone, probably a drunk, was screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs.

There were several people milling about in front of one of the other bars on the street. It looked as though it was a scuffle over the affections of a woman. Two men drunkenly squared off against each other as the object of their affections in a sparkly, barely-there, tank top screamed for them to stop.

"Shit!" said Cho as he caught the flash of metal when one of the drunks produced a weapon.

Acting on instinct, he and Rigsby were out of the SUV in a flash as one man began to run for his life; the other staggering behind him holding a knife with a wicked looking blade. They vanished down the alley next to the bar as the woman tottered after them in her high heels. The two agents were already contacting local local PD to send someone but, they pursued the trio to stop whatever bloodshed the knife wielder intended.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

They entered a bedroom. There was soft light coming from the frosted glass globe of an intricate gilded lamp on the nightstand. The entire room was decorated in a red and gold theme with blood colored wall paper on which tiny gold cherubs hovered. To Jane, it looked like a Victorian bordello.

The tall blonde woman shoved him into a plush velvet armchair with carved wooden arms. He fell into it, his head still spinning. Even the soft light in the room seemed too bright for his eyes. He blinked and swallowed trying to keep the nausea at bay. His head throbbed and everything seemed slightly out of focus.

"Let's get you all comfy, Roger. Then we can talk. You always liked to talk with me . . . remember?" said Marla with a soft purr in her voice as she wrapped what seemed to be a silken rope around him tightly to bind him to the tufted back of the chair. She then bound each leg to the ornately carved legs of the chair with a similar cord.

When she was sure she'd bound him securely enough and he couldn't escape, she stood back to look at him admiringly, seemingly pleased with her catch. Her hand reached toward his face and he recoiled as he felt it caress his cheek.

"Roger" she breathed in a low voice "It's been so long since you've come home. Please don't go away for such a long time. I need you."

"Marla, you've made a mistake. My name is Patrick. I'm not Roger. Look at me closely, you'll see that I'm not him."

"Don't be silly. Of course you're Roger. **My** Roger." she added, her tawny eyes widening and her face taking on a familiar expression. Jane felt a chill as he recognized where he'd seen that look before.

"You've obviously made a mistake. If you let me go, we can forget this ever happened." Jane tried to reason with her.

"Roger, why are you lying to me? I know that I'm not the one you want anymore but, why lie to me now? You know it won't do any good. You know what I want from you. I want it to be like it was before . . . before you got involved in that . . . horrible perverted world."

It had been when he was in the hospital when they'd finally allowed him into the day room. Most of the time he just sat and watched the others. He had no desire to join the living. There was a woman there. She'd been committed shortly after he'd arrived there.

She was quite beautiful but, her wrists still bore the scars . He remembered thinking at the time that she'd gone about it wrong. Wrists were not the right place to cut. It should have been higher up at the crook of the arm. It would cause blood loss in quicker fashion. He'd researched it carefully before trying it.

Her eyes held that same look; intensely focused, frighteningly so but, wild and . . . insane. She'd been committed after her attempt to end her own life when she failed at ending the life of her former boyfriend. He didn't know the details nor did he care. She was just another of the sad, damaged and deranged. Just as he was.

"Roger, why don't we have some Madeira. It will make things so much more relaxed, don't you think? We can stay up all night and be like we used to. Remember? When you loved me? We'd stay up all night and talk and make love. I've been aching for you. You have no idea how much I've missed the way your skin feels, so smooth, so warm . . . "

She bent forward and her hands began to slip under the hem of his shirt. He flinched as her fingertips traced across his abdomen and up toward his chest.

"Don't you like this Roger? You used to like it a lot. Remember?"

Her face was only inches away from his. Her breath was hot on his cheek. He could see the blackness of her pupils as they nearly obliterated the tawny irises with her need. She pulled her hands back from his body then gently cupped the sides of his face and held it while her lips first brushed softly against his and then suddenly, fiercely, crushed against them.

He struggled to move away but she held him tightly. He felt he couldn't breathe. This was just so wrong in so many ways. He finally wrenched his face away and she stood up, her chest heaving and took a step back, her eyes still locked on his. She smiled.

"Marla, listen to me! I'm not Roger! I'm Patrick. Remember? We danced and then I was going to get some, uhh poppers from you? We just met. I'm not Roger!"

"Roger, don't lie anymore. I know what you do when you leave. I know that you're out there with them! With those men! I know about the music and the drugs and the . . . the sex! Like animals! You're like animals!"

Her eyes held anger and desire and madness. She stared at him for several more moments before her face became icily composed and she turned away and walked toward a carved chest on the other side of the room. Her back was to him and he could hear a drawer being slid open.

"I got this just for you, Roger. You won't leave me again." she said in a cold voice as she turned.


	10. Chapter 10

Blood Music - Chapter Ten

**Here's another chapter a little shorter and a little sooner than I'd intended. Am holding off until I've solved an issue before I post a longer chapter. (These stories are as much a mystery to me as they are to the reader!). ****I thank you for your reviews and comments and favorites. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. I truly appreciate your opinions.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the show, the characters, etc. If I did, I'd have a computer that will give back any st****ories I've entered into it instead of relegating them to an inacessible never-never land. Lyle is so on thin ice right now.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The Scent of Roses

"Shit! Shit!"

Teresa Lisbon and Grace VanPelt stood breathlessly as they watched the glow of taillights disappearing into the darkness.

Lisbon felt as though someone had tightened a band around her chest. Her exhalations condensed into a steamy cloud to join with VanPelt's as she gasped for air after their mad dash toward the accelerating van.

Jane was gone. It was her fault.

She could hear a screech of tires behind her as the SUV containing Cho and Rigsby pulled up next to the two women. Both scrambled into the back, Lisbon yelling "Go! Go!" and the tires spun on the wet pavement as Cho floored it.

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Jane watched Marla's face closely. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what she held out in front of her. He strained against the silken rope around his chest and could feel no give in it. _Where was the team?_

He swallowed and looked at what she held before her. It was a small glass dish of white powder. He almost smiled at the innocuousness of it. She walked slowly toward him, the smile once again drawing her full lips wide and her eyes glittered as she fixed them on his own.

"This is special just for your, Roger. I took it from the clinic. It's something we're still testing."

Whatever the white powder could be, he was sure it was something he wasn't going to like.

She approached him slowly the dish held in one hand. She stopped before him to stand for a moment with that eerie smile still in place before her other hand reached out and she began to stroke his cheek.

"Marla, listen to me, please." Jane said trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He really, really didn't want to know what was in the dish. "I know that you think I'm Roger but, I'm not. I'm Patrick Jane, I work for the CBI. I'm here to help you. Let me help you."

She stood before him; the smile faded and her eyes flickered with doubt for a nanosecond then she smiled once again. "Roger, don't play with me. I _know_ you're my Roger. You knew that I'd find you again. You left me alone for such a long time. I missed you more than you could ever know. I dream about you every night . . . the soft feel of your hair . . . ," she began to run her fingers through his sweat matted curls, ". . . the feel of your body . . . " With a muted clink, she set the dish down on the nightstand. Her hands began to trail down his neck. She gripped his shoulders and leaned forward. He closed his eyes. Her touch made him wince as though it caused pain.

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked, surprise in her voice. "You shouldn't be afraid. I love you Roger, I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

He felt the heat from her body as she leaned closer and pressed her lips to his forehead. She trailed soft kisses down the side of his face to his neck. He sat as though made of stone. Perhaps if he didn't react at all, it would help snap her back to reality; if that was even possible. She seemed immune to reason.

The bedroom was stuffy. It smelled like an old house, musty and scented by a hundred others before this strange couple played out their drama within its walls. It also smelled of roses. Jane made note and thought that it was probably an appropriate scent for such an arcane atmosphere. Victorians loved roses and violets and . . .

He clenched his teeth tightly as he could feel her hands once again at the hem of his shirt. "Please, don't."

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The SUV barreled into the night. No one said a word as their eyes searched the darkness for any sign of the van. If the energy from their combined tension could create heat, the vehicle would have the light rainfall sizzling as it landed on the shiny, black metal.

"We should've put a tracking device on him." said Cho, his voice not betraying the worry and dread that made him grip the steering wheel so tightly that his hands throbbed.

"We weren't supposed to lose him." said Lisbon, not quite as successful at keeping the emotion from her voice. "I told him we'd watch him, Dammit!"

"Boss" said VanPelt "the club was too crowded, we would've needed a snowplow to get to the door any faster. It's not your fault."

"It's my fault, if it's anyones" said Cho "I could hear what was going on, the sound of struggling, but I couldn't get back out of that alley fast enough."

"We took the knife away from the guy and just left them there to sort it out" said Rigsby, trying to help his partner deal with the guilt. "We got back as quickly as we could . . . " his voice lowered to near inaudibility "it wasn't fast enough."

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

They drove until nearly dawn, hoping to pick up a signal from Jane's mic. They'd already put out an APB on the van, but there were probably hundreds of such vehicles in the county if not thousands. Neither of the two women had been able to get a license plate ID and the van could only be described as 'older and dark colored'. To say that it was disheartening was a serious understatement.

The horizon was beginning to lighten and the stars tucked themselves away. Lisbon was numb with weariness. They'd lost him . . . again. She didn't want to find another body lying somewhere in a field. She didn't want to have to look at another blonde man staring up at the sky. They had to find him . . . they had to.

"Cho, let's get back to the club and see if anyone's still there."

"Boss, it closes down at three a.m. I doubt we'll be able to find anyone to talk to."

"Maybe there's still someone there cleaning up or doing the books or something. We don't have anything else."

Cho obediently turned the SUV around at a deserted intersection. Traffic hadn't yet begun in this rural part of the county. There probably wouldn't be much of it anyway. Well, maybe people commuted from the small farms that dotted the grassy, rolling hills. If so, it wasn't evident at the moment. There was no other traffic on this lonely road. They drove back to the city in dispirited silence.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The sun knifed its way through the gap in the heavy damask drapes. It shone into his eyes and he blinked down at the sleeping woman curled against his body. In sleep, she looked normal, sweet, sane. Her hand rested on his stomach and he could feel her warm breath on his bare chest as she exhaled softly. His head ached, his arms ached. He pulled against the cord that looped around his wrists and then around the turned mahogany bedposts. She murmured in reaction to his movement and pulled closer to him but didn't seem to awaken.

It was daylight. They'd surely find him now. He just had to keep talking to her trying to stall anything she may have planned for 'Roger'.

The dish of white powder still stood on the nightstand. He could see it sparkle in the shaft of sunlight, like sugar or powdery snow. Whatever it was, it wasn't something that they were used to looking for at the coroners office or they'd have already figured out what killed those guys. He shivered even though the room was warm.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The arrived back at the club within twenty minutes. As they'd thought, the door was closed and locked. The few windows had been blacked out by a thick coating of paint so there was no way to see if anyone was still inside. The sign stuck to the door gave an emergency number but some of the numerals had peeled off and the number was incomplete. They'd have to get the information from their own computers. Lisbon typed in the request and after several moments, it appeared on her smart phone's screen. There was no name listed as a contact, only the number. She quickly dialed it and got a sleepy female voice that said, "What?"

"This is Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon of the CBI, we've got an emergency that we need your help with."

"Teresa of the whaa?" said the sleepy voice not yet fully with it.

"California Bureau of Investigation", she said somewhat tersely, she was too tired and worried to be pleasant.

"Oh . . . OK . . . what can I help you with?"

"What is your name for starters?"

"Bobbie, err . . Roberta Delveccio."

"Ms. Delveccio, can you come down to the club? We have some questions for you."

"Right now?"

"Yes" said Lisbon, biting her tongue before she could add "you idiot!"

"OK, I'll be right down."

They were about to get back into the SUV to wait instead of standing on the damp sidewalk when the heavy door creaked open and a very tall woman in a bathrobe squinted out at them. The four agents looked at each in surprise. They hadn't realized that the emergency contact actually lived over the club. This wasn't an unpleasant discovery after such a stressful night.

They stepped into the quiet, cavernous space. It was now brightly lit by overhead industrial type fixtures and they could see how actually shabby it was without the darkness that was punctured by dancing lights and pounded by loud music. It smelled of stale liquor and sweat and cologne. The walls and ceiling were painted with peeling black paint and there was a large pile of trash that had been swept into the center of the dance floor.

Roberta, 'Bobbie', Delveccio shuffled over to one of the few tables in the corner of the room near the bar and removed the chairs that were upturned upon it's scarred surface. She gestured for them to sit and blinked sleepily before asking, "Would anyone like some coffee? I'm going to need some if you want me to stay conscious for longer than about five minutes. I'm going to make a pot even if you don't want any."

"Some coffee would be nice, thank you." said Lisbon. Actually coffee would be a very good idea right now. No one was going to bed before they found their missing consultant.

The tall, blonde woman tucked her pink chenille bathrobe tighter around her ample bosom as she shuffled toward the bar to make coffee. He wild blonde hair was tucked messily into an elastic band at the nape of her neck. Rigsby realized with a start that it was the bouncer with whom he'd had the stare-down the previous evening. She didn't look quite so intimidating in a fuzzy pink bathrobe.

"I can answer your questions from here." said Roberta as she stepped behind the bar and began to fill the reservoir of the coffee-maker with water from the tap.

"Last night, one of our people, here on an undercover assignment disappeared from this club. We need your help to find him."

"Thought I recognized that tall guy with you. He'd kind of hard to miss. You looking for the cute little blonde guy was with him?"

"Yeah, good memory." said Cho who'd recognized the woman as soon as she opened the door to let them in.

"Yeah, well, he looked like the poster that got passed around here a couple of nights ago. Someone else is looking for a guy that looks like him."

"A poster?" said Lisbon with renewed wakefulness, her bloodshot eyes opening wider to look at Roberta.

"Yeah, got it here somewhere." she said as she began to rummage behind the bar. They could hear various things clinking and rattling then she triumphantly produced the flyer with a loud "Aha!"

She brought it over to them, her bare feet slapping on wooden flooring and then turned back to the bar to finish making the coffee.

It was a black and white flyer with the picture of a smiling blonde man and his description below it. It matched Jane's description perfectly and the photo did bear a disquieting resemblance to their consultant. None of the four recognized the name: Roger Mulhulland. He'd been missing since April of 2007. There was a number and a name listed on the bottom of the sheet. There was a large reward offered as well.

"Where did you get this flyer?" asked Lisbon. There was something she couldn't ignore about the photo and description; it would also fit any of the six murder victims.

"Woman that comes in here every so often. She brought it up to me at the door a few weeks ago." Roberta yawned tiredly as she finished measuring the ground coffee into the brewing basket.

"What does this woman look like? asked Lisbon, now nearly vibrating.

"Tall . . . not as tall as me. Blonde, cute, nice body. I would've liked to get to know her better but, there's just something kinda off about her, kinda weird."

Now it was Cho's turn to lean forward with focused alertness. He'd recalled Jane saying that he'd gotten a weird vibe from the woman with the poppers.

Lisbon snatched the flyer off the tabletop and dialed the CBI. She tensely barked an order to the person who answered the phone, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the result.

"Nine thirteen Gravenstein Highway, just outside of town in an unincorporated part of the county!" she barked at them as they hurriedly stood up, Rigsby up-ending his chair in his haste, and rushed as one toward the door. It closed with a loud thud as Roberta Delveccio blinked at them and shrugged. She could smell the coffee as the pot hissed, signaling that the twelve cups of it were now deposited into the glass carafe.

She shrugged and filled a heavy china mug and shuffled toward the door to the stairs that lead back to her apartment. "Weird, indeed."

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC

This is a slightly different style for me. Please let me know what you think of it dear readers.


	11. Chapter 11

Blood Music - Chapter Eleven

**Here's another chapter while Lyle is taking his break. Hope you like it. The next chapter may be the last. Please review, it makes Lyle jealous. It's probably the only revenge I'll be getting against that infernal computer machine. As usual, all mistakes are mine. I can't even blame it on Lyle this time.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned the show and the characters and made money from this; do you actually think I would be working on a borrowed computer?**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Scream of the Lioness

In the wee hours:

Once again, she grabbed him by the hair. He yelped as she drug him to a nearly standing position and then spun him in the direction of the bed to push him onto its plush surface. Like the rest of the room, the bed was cluttered with decoration. Myriad silk, velvet, tufted, embellished pillows; embroidered with flowers, cherubs or whatever else was dear to a Victorian's heart covered nearly half of it. How anyone could actually sleep amid such clutter he had no idea but, he feared that sleeping wasn't what this madwoman had in mind.

Using a new length of the soft rope, she knotted it securely on each of his wrists before looping the other ends over the sturdy bedposts and then tying them off. She then cut the plastic zip-tie that had bound his hands behind his back. All it took was a strong tug and his arms were pulled snugly toward the corners of the bed-frame. His cramped muscles protested the sudden movement and he gasped as they were jerked so suddenly to the new and even more awkward position. She'd done this before; he was certain of it. She was much too deft and organized for this to be the first time for such endeavor.

Once he was secured, she took a pair of ornate gold-colored scissors out of a small, lace adorned, basket by the bed and slowly, carefully cut his shirt off his body. She was lucid enough to know that if she untied his hands to get the shirt over his head, he'd attempt an escape. So another new shirt bit the dust; not that he'd ever want to wear it again after this experience. The shirt had to be bad luck, if one believed in such things. The first version had gotten him drugged and hospitalized; now, it had gotten him drugged, kidnaped and . . . he didn't really want to think what may be next.

He closed his eyes and could feel her weight make the bed dip as she lay down next to him. Her hand slowly smoothed its way from his hair down the side of his face to his neck and then his shoulder before making its way down his chest to come to rest on his abdomen

Her touch made him cringe. No one was allowed to touch him this way or in nearly _any_ way. He'd allowed no one since Angela.

Unwanted touching had always bothered him . . . that someone would dare put a hand on him without his permission. Even having someone unexpectedly pat him on the back or shoulder would cause an unpleasant rush of something akin to anger. He'd always been this way. He didn't know why, maybe it was something he didn't want to know. As her hand brushed against his skin, the feeling built within.

Trying to rid himself of the unhelpful feeling, he had to think of something to get her to at least loosen the bindings. He didn't have anything else to use at the moment. He did what was second nature to him . . . he lied.

"Marla, why don't we take our time? It's been so long, I'd hate to rush this. We have a lot of time now that I'm back. Aren't you tired? Wouldn't it be best to get some sleep and take this up in the morning? You know that morning is best. I want to see you in the sunlight my darling. You're so beautiful in the sunlight . . . like gold . . . like a beautiful silky golden cat."

She stopped her exploration of his body and looked at him with surprise. He looked back at her with his strong, unblinking gaze, his eyes not leaving her face. He could see her thinking about what he'd said.

"It's so much nicer in the daylight dearest. We can see each other so much more clearly. You like to look at me don't you? I remember that you liked that. I'd love to see your beautiful body in the sunlight with it reflecting off your golden hair. It would be so much nicer than this late hour when we're so tired and bleary eyed. I want to see you in the daylight . . . darling. Wouldn't you like that?"

Her face registered puzzlement. Roger hadn't wanted to make love in the daylight the other times. Was this a trick? Did he really want her again?

Jane could see the conflict in her face as her hand stopped at his belt buckle. She looked down to slide the leather strap out of the metal fastener and then stopped to look up at him; her eyes searching his face intently.

"Do you want me again, Roger?" she asked in a small voice, unsure of herself.

"Of course I want you Marla, how could I not?"

"I . . . I was so mean to you last time. When you said you didn't want me. I didn't want to hurt you but, I couldn't help myself. You were my whole life! I gave up everything for you, my family, my freedom, my soul . . . then you left. It made me so angry. I don't want to hurt you, not like you hurt me. Physical pain isn't as bad as the way you hurt me, Roger."

"I'm so sorry, Marla. I didn't realize what you meant to me until I went away. When I left, I realized how much I missed you. I'm so glad you found me again. We can be together."

"You won't leave me again?" pleaded/asked the blonde woman as her eyes searched his, looking for reassurance of his fidelity.

"No, of course not, dearest. I won't leave you so why don't we just rest for tonight. Untie me and we can cuddle until daylight and then we'll have all the time in the world to make it up to each other."

Tears pooled in her eyes as she shook her head affirmatively then sat up and swung her legs off the bed to sit strangely quiet by his side. She plucked at the fringe of the velvet bedspread, a small sad smile on her face as she stared off into the distance, tears rolling silently down her smooth cheeks.

"Marla? Aren't you going to untie me?" asked Jane softly

"You're lying!" she said turning to him so abruptly her hair whipped across her face before it fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were ablaze with anger . . . with madness.

"Marla, darling, why would I lie? I want you."

Her face dissolved into a grimace of pain and she began to weep loudly. Her shoulders shook with the effort as she covered her face and bent over her knees to rock back and forth on the edge of the bed.

"Marla? What's wrong? Don't you love me? Don't you want to let me go so that I can hold you? I don't want you to cry. You shouldn't be crying now that we have each other again."

"I can't. You lied to me last time! I trusted you and you tried to get away and . . . and . . . I had to use the powder to keep you here. I don't want to use the powder again, Roger, don't make me!"

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to Marla, don't worry." reassured Jane, trying not to show the fear that dried his mouth and made swallowing almost impossible.

She sobbed for awhile longer before stopping as though someone had flipped a switch.

"Let's just lie here until it's light then, maybe, I'll untie you. You're right, I'm tired. It will be so nice to sleep next to you again, to feel your body against mine, like it used to be but I have to do something first."

She reached over him toward the nightstand . . . toward the dish. He tensed until he realized that she only wanted to turn off the lamp. The room was plunged into total darkness as he heard the click of the lamp switch and her hand trailed back over his chest before he felt her lips brush against his cheek. She sighed contentedly and put her head on his chest, her body against his.

"I love you." she whispered in the darkness.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Dawn:

He closed his eyes against the light. She was awake again and he could hear her breathing change as she awoke and yawned then stretched like the cat he'd already determined her to be.

"Roger, my love, why don't we do what we planned? It's daylight, I'm going to open all the drapes and we can have our time now. We can make love all we want. There's no one here to stop us. It's just you and I and the rest of this beautiful day. See the sunlight's coming in thru the gap in the drapes. I bet it's beautiful out . . . but, that doesn't matter to us does it? We're going to stay here all day in this bed."

"Marla, darling, there are some things that need to be taken care of before we begin. I uhh, have to use the restroom. After all, you've had me ti . . . we've been snuggled up together all night. Nature is calling."

"Oh, all right. I'll untie you so you can go to the little boy's room." she giggled

She kissed him passionately then climbed over him to get out of bed. She could have gotten out of bed on the other side but this provided another opportunity for contact.

"Great, then we can get back to what we were going to do." he said trying to sound as enthusiastic as he could in spite of a wicked headache and painfully full bladder.

He felt the ropes loosen as she busied herself behind the headboard. Last night, he hadn't noticed that the bed had actually been placed in nearly the middle of the room. There was space to walk all around it. He thought that was probably another statement of her intent. The room_ is _the bed. It was center stage. It was her lair . . . her enthusiastically overdone lair.

He pulled his arms downward slowly, trying to get his muscles and tendons to agree with the direction in which he was willing them to go. He groaned slightly and sat up. His head still didn't seem to be quite right. He was more than slightly dizzy and even a little nauseous as he tried to stand upright. She didn't bother to untie the ropes from his wrists, probably not fully trusting that he wouldn't make a break for it.

Of course he was going to try to escape. He'd spent a night being molested by a crazy woman and it was not his idea of a good time. All he wanted to do was go home and take a long, hot shower with maybe a loofah and some Comet cleanser.

He felt like a dog on a leash as she held onto the other ends of the rope and let him totter unsteadily to the bathroom. He took care of business before anything else. She hadn't let him close the door and he could see her over his shoulder as he stood relieving himself.

He washed up, splashing cold water on his face, hoping it would help the pounding in his head. There was no way out of the bathroom. The one window was covered in decorative scrolled ironwork on the outside. He'd need an acetylene torch to get out that way.

"Roger, come out and see what I've got for you." she purred from the bedroom and he could feel the tug of the ropes around his wrists. They wouldn't be that difficult to undo now that his hands were in front of him but, he'd need a little time and she had no intention of giving him any.

He came slowly out of the bathroom and saw that, somehow, Marla had shed the Levi's and t-shirt she'd slept in and was now wearing something different. Diaphanous pink fabric clung to her curves as she stood by the bed, pulling on the ropes that bound him as though reeling in a fish.

It was now or never.

He tugged forcefully on the ropes and pulled her off balance. She landed heavily but didn't let go. He tried to get to the door but she quickly gained her feet and wrapped the ropes around the bedposts once again not having time to tie them off as she'd done previously. He strained against the ropes, making the bed creak with his forceful tugging.

He could hear her behind her behind the tall carved headboard, gasping and grunting as she pulled on the ropes in a frantic tug of war. She must have managed to get them secured because there was no longer any give when he pulled with all his might. He'd shut his eyes tightly with the strain of his frenzied struggle to get free. He heard a drawer slide open behind him and whirled as he felt a sting on his bicep.

"Let me go Godammit!" He tried to rush toward her but was brought up by the rope as though he was a barking dog who'd hit the end of his tether. He struggled even more frantically yelling "Let me go you crazy bitch!" He could no longer control what had been building inside him with every one of her unwanted caresses.

There wasn't enough slack in the ropes for him to get any nearer to her. She stood watching him silently, an empty syringe at her side, as he continued his struggling and a small smile formed on her face when she saw his movement begin to subside as the drug took effect and he sagged to his knees.

The bright sunlight faded to blackness.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

"Don't" he said more forcefully than was probably prudent; trying to move away from her hand.

His mind tried to separate itself from his body as her fingers traced the lines of his muscles. She looked at him with those huge tawny eyes, the pupils large and round like a lioness. He knew that the big cats had round rather than elliptical pupils. Yes, a lioness, a puma, stealthy, deadly . . . even her hair was the right color for the big cat. A beautiful animal but, a very efficient and successful predator, able to kill creatures far larger than itself.

What did the Apache believe? He searched his mind frantically as her hands stroked his skin . . . the Apache believed that the wail of a mountain lion was the harbinger of death . . . lions . . . death . . . screams . . . he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to make any sound.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The SUV sped toward the edge of town.

_We'll find him in time, he's smart, he'll figure a way to survive until we get there_, thought Lisbon as the small fenced yards began to turn into larger open plots of land.

_Jane's tougher than he looks, he'll be OK, _thought Cho as he aimed the vehicle like a large boxy missile down the country road.

_We have to get to him before that crazy woman makes him one more victim_, thought Rigsby.

_Please God, I know he says he doesn't believe but, please protect him anyway,_ prayed VanPelt.

The sun had come up bright and hopeful. They drove into it as it crested over the rolling yellow hills. Gravenstein Highway was just ahead.


	12. Chapter 12

Blood Music - Chapter 12

**Hello. Bet you thought I'd forgotten about you, huh? Lyle is still unconscious. Still not having any luck reviving him so it's even harder than usual to update this story . . . and the dog ate my homework . . . again. Please review if you're still speaking to me.**

**Disclaimer: the usual**

**Mistakes: all mine**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

All That's Left

The SUV nearly went into a skid on the slick asphalt when they spotted the street sign that read "Gravenstein Highway" and Cho cranked the wheel hard to the right while stomping on the brake. It fish-tailed then straightened out and he accelerated. It wasn't much of a highway, just a two-lane, poorly maintained road that rambled into the yellow hills dotted with scrub oak.

They strained against their seat-belts as though leaning forward would get them there faster. Though it was only minutes after their abrupt turn off the main road, it seemed eons. Four sets of eyes scanned the rural mailboxes that intermittently lined the highway before they found the one they were looking for.

There it was, a battered tin receptacle on a painted post, now peeling and cockeyed; the name on the box was 'Mulhulland'. They stopped at the end of the steep, rutted, driveway that wound to the top of the hill on which sat a tile roofed house.

Built in a style that was popular in California in the twenties and thirties, it looked like something from _'Sunset Boulevard'_ as designed by Disney. An example of the faux Spanish style homes found in the older parts of Los Angeles and the Hollywood Hills; the roof was too steeply pitched, even for a make-believe hacienda. Several of the weathered roof tiles long ago faded from red to pinkish grey were barely clinging to the sharp angle.

The structure had probably been quite grand in its day but had slid into sad disrepair, its dull white paint flaking off the stucco. Other than a few straggly rose bushes that had managed to survive neglect and the elements, the landscaping was almost non-existent.

They left the SUV at the bottom of the drive and made their way on foot up the steep incline to the top of the small hill on which the house perched. Lisbon had already requested back-up from the Sheriff's Department which had jurisdiction in this un-incorporated part of Sacramento County. Because of a possible hostage situation, she requested that they respond without sirens.

The sun was beginning to dry the night's moisture from the straw-like grass that had turned its seasonal golden color as the days lengthened into summer; the pleasant wild smell of it coming up from the ground like steam.

Lisbon waved the other two agents to come up the hill from the opposite direction. It was a slightly steeper but relatively short climb to the top.

The gravel crunched under Lisbon's and Cho's feet when they got to the parking pad at the top. There was no way to make a silent approach from this side. The van they'd been searching for was parked on the semi-level ground before them. It was dark blue and as run-down as the house. Lisbon crept up and checked through the back window to see if there was anyone or anything inside that needed to be dealt with. It was empty save for an old tattered blanket.

Rigsby and VanPelt made their way up the grassy hillside. Though the ground sloped away steeply on three sides, there was enough room to creep up to the windows for a look . They could hear the faint sound of a radio or some other type of device as an unfamiliar voice warbled something in French; an accordion wheezing in the background.

In front, Lisbon and Cho climbed the the steep steps to the porch. They could faintly hear music from within. Cho recognized "La Vie en Rose", that old song by Piaff. He considered it cheesy though the rest of the world probably wouldn't agree with his critique. It was just that it was used so often when a movie or TV scene needed to establish a seedy French atmosphere.

They quietly tried the door and, as expected, it was locked. There was no other place to enter the house from the front. The door was in an arched alcove and the only windows near it were small, high off the ground and covered in decorative wrought iron.

Lisbon motioned Cho to stay on the porch while she quickly descended the stairs to look for another way in. She could feel her heart speeding up as the rescue was becoming reality. If he was in there, they had to get him out now. They still didn't know what had killed the others. Maybe she'd already given him something. Though he wasn't trained in hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn't have been that easy to subdue.

She crept around the side, grateful there was no gravel here, just the dried weeds. On this side of the house was a tall casement type window that had no drapery or shade. She was just tall enough to peer through its bottom pane. She looked into a large, nearly bare, living room with a dusty wooden floor.

It was unoccupied but, she could see other doors leading off it. Hopefully, Rigsby and VanPelt would be able to see in from the other side of the house.

They were once again wired for sound with their 'not-so-secret-service' equipment. She spoke quietly into the mic.

"Rigsby, VanPelt, you guys got anything?"

She could hear only hear huffing and puffing as they climbed the hill.

"Almost there boss." came VanPelt's voice nearly breathless voice.

After a very long thirty seconds, Rigsby said softly, "There's a gap in the curtains. Looks like a bedroom."

"Can you see Jane?" asked Lisbon not quite successfully suppressing her anxious tone.

"I can only see part of the room. There's someone on the bed. Yeah, wait! There's two people on it, looks like a woman's' legs tangled up with a guy's. The guy is wearing Levi's."

"Is it him?" asked Lisbon, her heart now pounding so loudly she didn't know why everyone else couldn't hear it.

"Can't tell for sure. I can only see legs but, could be."

"Cho, get ready!" snapped Lisbon

"Solid door with a heavy lock. Have to shoot it open." came Cho's voice in her ear.

"Do it on my signal." she replied

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He could no longer feel anything. Not the bed on which he lay, nor the ropes on his wrists nor the hands caressing his body.

He was somewhere in the sun with Angela and Charlotte.

He and Angela proudly watched their daughter at play in the middle of this calm green, sunny, meadow surrounded by tall trees. Charlotte was having a tea party.

She'd laid a soft blanket down on the warm grass. Her dolls were all sitting at their places with an old silk scarf spread out in the middle serving as a table cloth. Her 'table' was set just so. The miniature china tea-set was laid out before her guests, each one with a tiny cup and saucer before him or her. He and Angela had given her the tea set for Christmas. It had small pink roses on it. It was one of her favorite play things.

The sun glinted off her soft golden curls. He was so glad she looked like her mother; his coloring but Angela's delicate features. He thought she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She carefully poured imaginary tea into each of the cups. She had quite an imagination . . . also something she'd inherited from him. While Angela was anchored in the here and now, father and daughter both preferred the fantasies of make believe.

She asked each of her dolls in turn, (including the one plush toy elephant she'd named Daisy), if they wanted sugar, milk or lemon in their tea. Receiving an answer from each one, she mimed dropping or pouring the appropriate addition into each cup.

The wind picked up from a light breeze to a strong gust. It lifted the edges of the blanket and the gaily patterned silk tablecloth. The restful silence with only the clinking of china and the small giggle of a child was replaced by a dreadful roar. The surging air quickly increased in strength until, one by one, the guests were taken by it and whipped away. He reached for Charlotte to cradle her against it, to protect her from its force. He watched the china set disappear piece by fragile piece into the wind. First the cups, then the saucers, then the teapot were swept away.

He clung to his wife and daughter as a great tide of leaves and branches rolled across the meadow. The wind too strong, they were being pulled out of his grasp. He strained so hard to hold onto them but . . . finally . . . they whirled away . . . with the dolls and the china and the silk; lost in the fierce wind. He screamed for them but his screams were drowned in the roar. The trees started to break with loud popping sounds.

Suddenly, all the noise stopped and he was alone.

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There was no way for Lisbon to climb in the window without a boost or a ladder. She was fit but she was no spiderman. She looked around her and found a couple of old plastic milk crates that someone had so conveniently left and were nearly invisible in the weedy growth. She quickly but carefully picked them up; wary of any multi-legged creature that may have taken up residence in the abandoned plastic, (she was tough as they come but, hey, she's still a girl), and stacked them one on the other. The window was open wide enough for her to squeeze her small body through it.

"Rigsby, VanPelt, can you guys get into the bedroom?"

"Yeah, Boss. We can break the window and climb in." came Rigsby's voice in her earpiece.

"Can you tell where it is in relationship to the front door?" she asked

"It's gonna be on your left at the back." answered Rigsby

"You hear that Cho?" she asked

"Got it." he answered

"Sac County Sheriffs should be here in a couple but I'd rather not wait for them. We have to go in. Jane's been there with her most of the night. We need to get him out.

"We're ready when you are. Just give the signal boss." said VanPelt

"When you go in, make it fast and hot. We don't know what she'll do when she sees us. Jane is probably in enough trouble."

"Can do." whispered Rigsby, "It'll be quick."

"and hot." said Cho

"OK Cho's coming through the front door. We'll hear it and go on that."

Adrenaline was making her heart hammer as she climbed onto the stacked crates and gathered her muscles for a mad dash through the window across the living room and into the bedroom.

Two shots cracked into the morning air and four coiled people launched themselves at their target.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Blood Music

Chapter Thirteen

**Here's a short chapter. Still working on borrowed equipment. Lyle may be going to the big media room in the sky. I have very understanding friends who know about my crazy compulsion and are willing to help anyway. Still not comfortable writing action scenes . . . let me know what you think.**

**Thank you to Purple Piggie the muse that other muses go to for inspiration. Thank you to Elanordh for her wonderful input and much needed encouragement.**

**Disclaimer: You know**

**Mistakes: Mine**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Dust

It happened quickly. Two shots from Cho's gun followed by the crash of breaking glass and splintering wood and Lisbon's small grunt of effort as she propelled herself through the window.

They burst into the bedroom with the force and fury of a cavalry brigade. Shouting "CBI! Don't Move!"

On the bed in the center of the room lay Jane, arms drawn upward and outward, fastened to the bedposts with what looks like some sort of cording. He was wearing only Levi's and his eyes were closed as though asleep. Lisbon could see his bare chest rise and fall and knew he was still alive but, he wasn't moving or reacting to the sound of his rescue.

Marla stood facing them a few feet away on the left side of the room. She vibrated with anger; her tawny hazel eyes blazing and dangerous.

"You can't have him! He's mine!" she shouted as she backed closer toward the bed. They'd cornered her in her lair. Her unfortunate prey lay oblivious to the tense stand-off for his possession.

In a blink, Marla whirled and snatched up a small glass dish from the nightstand and turned back toward them, holding it in her right hand, an innocent looking powder filled it halfway. "Put down the dish!" ordered Lisbon certain that whatever was in the container wasn't a good thing. The muzzles of four guns were trained on the tall woman who stood in front of them; her chest heaving as though she'd run a marathon.

"All I have to do is throw it in his face. He'll have to breath it." she said in an eerie purr. "Roger said he loves me and wants to stay here in our house; the one we fixed up together. If he inhales what I have in this dish, he'll have to stay."

"What did you do to him!" demanded Lisbon her finger almost involuntarily tightening on the trigger. She could probably take the crazed bitch out before she had a chance to do anything with the powder but, since they didn't know what the hell it was or what effect it would have if scattered about the room, it was best that they try to talk her down before resorting to anything more drastic . . . and final.

"I only loved him! I only ever loved him . . . even after he left me I still loved him!" she screamed as her face became flushed and taut, the cords in her neck standing out like violin strings. Her words bounced off the red walls, the golden cherubs seemed to pause in flight; hovering to listen to the mad drama playing out in the now crowded room.

The four agents stood frozen in place not wanting to test the tensil of the thread of her wavering sanity. The only audible sound, other than their harsh breathing, was the strains of "La Vie en Rose" still coming from a small CD player set on the chest of drawers across from the bed. The music floated on the air along with the cloying scent of roses.

_It's been playing since we got here. _Cho thought with irritation. _She must have it on repeat_. He slowly and carefully reached toward the small electronic device and pressed the power button to silence it.

"Get away from the bed!" ordered Lisbon in a calm, quiet voice; her emerald gaze focused like a laser on the blonde woman.

Marla looked down at Jane who still hadn't moved or opened his eyes. Her face held a tender expression but she didn't budge from her stance on the fringed carpet.

"Roger came back." she said with a strange tone of wonder in a much calmer voice than she'd used to declare her love a moment ago. "He came back to be with me. He said he still loved me. I didn't have to use the drug to keep him here like the other times."

"Marla? That's your name isn't it? What kind of drug is it?"

"Marla Mulhulland, yes, that's me." she actually smiled. It was a bright, insane smile but, a smile none-the-less. She actually seemed pleased they knew her name.

"The powder? Oh, it's something special I got just for Roger. It's a drug we're testing at the lab. I took it to keep him here if he didn't want to stay with me. I used it before but it didn't kill him, he always came back."

_Yeah, he came back at least six times!_ thought Rigsby as he slowly edged toward the right, his gun unwaveringly trained on the woman in the pink teddy.

"What is this experimental drug?" asked Lisbon almost casually, as though inquiring about a secret recipe for cookies. She began edging toward the left side of the room. The others were also maneuvering slowly, cautiously. The farther apart they were, the more scattered would be Marla's attention; possibly giving them the opportunity to overpower her. They didn't want to provoke her if they could help it. There may still be a way to end this somewhat peacefully.

"It's an inhalable form of insulin. It's hard to control the dosage but we're working on it." answered Marla in a still reasonable tone. "I needed it to keep him from leaving, it would only make him sick but . . . " She shuddered and her face took on a look of anguish. "Sometimes he wouldn't wake up." she said softly.

"Marla, put down the powder and step away from the bed. You don't want to hurt Roger do you? You said you love him and that he came back to you. Why would you want to hurt him now?" asked Lisbon in a quiet gentle voice.

"He won't leave me again!" said Marla, once more becoming agitated . . . and louder. "Not like the other times! He said he'd stay but I know he's lying! I'll make him stay!"

Keeping up with Marla's roller-coaster emotional state was getting even more difficult. They could see the insanity ratcheting up in the tenseness of her body and the flashing menace in her yellow eyes.

She began to raise the dish higher.

"Marla, put it down now!" ordered Lisbon without the gentle tone this time; tired of talking to a woman who obviously had no hold on reality. This insane creature before her had brought to mind something her dad had told her long ago, before he fell off the wagon for good: _Tessa, don't try to make sense of a crazy person, you can't because they're . . . well . . . crazy._

"Roger!" Marla screamed, turning toward the inert man on the bed, "Tell them you're not leaving me! Tell them you want to stay with me . . . tell them!" there was no response, Jane didn't move a muscle, didn't even twitch. It was as though only the shell of his body was lying on the bed, whatever animated it was no longer with them in the room.

"Tell them!" she screamed again, her face contorted with anger, shining with sweat. _Why wasn't Roger answering? Why wasn't he confirming for these people that he'd come of his own volition . . . because he still loved me? He has to tell them or they'll never go away!_

They could almost make their move. The next time she turned away they'd be able to take her down. Four sets of muscles tensed in readiness for it. One of them had to grab the dish before the powder scattered. It wasn't going to be easy.

"He's not leaving me again!" she screamed turning back to face the agents now arrayed around her. Raising the powder filled glass dish over her head she switched it from her right hand to her left in preparation. She kept it level all the while, careful not to spill any.

She leaned toward Jane and four guns spat at once. Her body jerked with the impact.

She looked at them with wide-eyed surprise, her red painted lips forming a perfect 'O' before she toppled backward, the dish overturning and the white powder sifting down onto her hair and face. The small container landed on the floor with a nearly musical crash and broke into sparkling shards.

Even though the bullets had found their mark, the woman wouldn't give up her hold on the world of the living as she gasped for breath; her blood slowly seeped into into the wool nap of the rose patterned carpet. Suddenly, she thrashed in a violent seizure. The convulsion lasted for several moments before her body released her to the next world, whatever it may be.

A large red flower matching the cherub covered wallpaper slowly blossomed beneath her until the small rug became a sodden bloody rectangle on the wooden floor. The drifting molecules of white powder glittered and danced like dust in the tall, narrow, shaft of light coming through the gap in the curtains covering the now broken window.

"Don't go near her! Don't touch the powder!" ordered Lisbon, the smell of cordite and blood and roses filled the room and made her stomach clench.

It was once again quiet in the ornate red and gold bedroom. The cherubs were silent.

TBC

**Please let me know what you think of this chapter**. The next one should be up shortly if I have a computer to use. Farewell Lyle.


	14. Chapter 14

Blood Music

Chapter Fourteen

**Here's another. The story got away from me and will take a little longer to finish than anticipated. Thank you for your reviews and alerts and favorites. Please review if you'd be so kind. It's like opening presents and I really like presents.**

**Disclaimer: Don't make any money from this obsession. Don't own anything other than an '87 Olds . . . Lyle is no more.**

**Mistakes are all mine.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Touchless

"Cho, make sure that no one touches the body or goes near it until we confirm what that powder was! VanPelt, find out where she worked and get as much information as you can about what the drug might be and its effects!

"On it Boss!" the two agents said in unison as Cho hurried out of the house to warn the county cops who had just arrived of the suspected danger and VanPelt went back to the SUV to get her laptop.

Lisbon and Rigsby cautiously approached Jane from the opposite side of the room where the body and the powder had fallen. His eyes were closed and even the sound of gunfire hadn't roused him.

She leaned down and touched his face. He seemed cold though it was quite warm in the room.

"Jane?" she said softly and got no response. "Patrick?" she tried again a little louder and there was still no reaction.

Rigsby looked worriedly at his boss as she once again tried to get Jane to come to. She patted his face and spoke even more loudly, "Wake up! Patrick, come on, open your eyes! Don't freak us out dammit! Wake up!"

He lay unmoving, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady cadence.

"Rigsby" she ordered the tall man, "See if you can find a towel and put cold water on it. He'd not coming to. We'll call for EMT's if he doesn't wake up in the next couple of minutes. I don't know if it's because of something she gave him!"

Rigsby hurried off to find what she requested and came back within a minute and handed her a damp washcloth.

She took it and wiped it over the unconscious man's face and neck; all the while speaking to him loudly and pleadingly to wake up. Finally, he began to respond. He softly murmured something and Lisbon could only catch the words; Charlotte and wind.

"Jane! Come on . . . snap out of it! Talk to me!"

He softly moaned and then his body jerked as he opened his eyes and finally came back to the world. He looked around frantically, trying to remember where he was and what had happened.

"It's OK Jane. We're here now. You're safe." she soothed

"Lisbon?" his eyes focused on her worried face. He smiled at her. "You came." His smile grew wider.

Rigsby had pulled out his folding knife and quickly cut through the cord with the razor sharp blade.

"Thank you." smiled Jane politely as he eased his arms down to his sides and sat up. A few more moments and a few more cautious strokes of the blade and the cord around each wrist was cut through. The blonde man seemed to stare in puzzlement at the deep abrasions on the skin of each wrist. Though they'd bled, he gave no sign that he experienced any pain.

"Jane? Are you OK?" asked Lisbon worriedly, her eyes roving over his body to check for injuries.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he said, sounding surprised she'd asked the question.

She only looked at him searchingly. Physically, other than the marks on his wrists, he seemed alright. He looked back at her as though it was perfectly normal to be sitting on an overdone bed with what seemed like thousands of frou-frou pillows while a dead woman lay in a heap only a few feet away. It didn't even seem to register that he had no shirt or shoes and that the button fly on his pants was halfway undone . . . he was too calm.

He sat smiling at her, looking as though they'd just met for brunch instead of being the rescued and rescuer who'd just been part of a tense and deadly showdown.

"Let's get you looked over at the hospital, OK?" said Lisbon, unerved by his tranquil demeanor.

He calmly nodded his head in agreement. Now she knew something was wrong. No whining, no complaining about having to be tended by the medical personnel he found so annoying. This just wasn't right. _He_ just wasn't right.

The Sheriff's Department was taking care of the crime scene. She and her team would have to do most of the paperwork but, they would leave the clean up to the able and practiced personnel of Sacramento County. Even if the state was miserly with its funding for equipment, this leaving the clean-up to the locals was one of the perks of working for a higher ranking agency thought Senior Agent in Charge Lisbon.

She extended her hand to her consultant and he looked at it with a slight frown and then smiled up at her and hesitantly took it in his as she pulled him up from the bed. He seemed to wobble slightly before finding his balance.

"Let's find your shoes, OK?"

He nodded docilely and without saying a word began to cast his eyes about the floor in search of his footwear.

They found them under the edge of the ruffled and tasseled bed-skirt along with his socks and what remained of his shirt. She handed the shoes and socks to him and he sat down on the wooden floor and slowly pulled on the socks. He carefully smoothed out any folds at the top and then donned the leather sneakers and slowly and precisely tied the laces.

He smiled up at her again and then stood; waiting for her instruction as to what to do next. _OK, now it's creepy, s_he thought. Patrick Jane was waay too docile . . . something is horribly wrong.

Rigsby handed him a CBI wind-breaker he'd gotten from the SUV and with only a nodded thank you and a small smile, Jane put it on. It was Rigsby's own jacket and the smaller man nearly swam in it, looking like a boy who'd put on his father's clothing for a game of pretend. Normally, the oversized and un-stylish jacket would have elicited some sort of smart comment from their rather finicky consultant; none had been forthcoming.

She took his hand and led him out of the bedroom, motioning for him to remember to do up the buttons on the front of his Levi's. He looked down and shyly turning away from her, fastened them.

She made sure that everyone had what they needed before telling the others she was taking Jane to the hospital to be checked over and for them to meet her there. When they were done at the scene, they could hitch a ride from the sheriffs to get to the hospital.

Cho stood watching Lisbon and Jane as they walked out the front door and down the steep concrete steps, Jane was holding onto Lisbon's elbow but, for whose balance or comfort he didn't know. He pressed his lips together in a straight line before he turned back to the task at hand. _Something is off about Jane._

The drive to the hospital was quiet . . . another unusual behavior for her consultant, and she kept glancing over at him as he calmly stared out at the undulating hills that sped by in the frame of the passenger window.

"Jane?" she asked

"Hmm" he answered absently not looking at her.

"What's going on with you?"

He then turned his head toward her and just looked at her with a blank expression; not saying anything for a long moment.

"Nothing's going on. You've just rescued me from captivity and I'm once again enjoying my freedom, even if it entails a trip to the hospital."

"Something's going on with you." said Lisbon with concern

"Just glad to be here." smiled Jane before turning once again toward the window.

He never turned to look at her again throughout the nearly half-hour ride to Sacramento Medical Center. She parked in the ER lot not far from where she'd parked on their last visit. He still hadn't spoken. Even though she'd shut off the engine; he just sat staring vacantly across the asphalt parking lot.

She put her hand on his arm to get his attention. She was surprised when he flinched at her touch and shrank away from it. She'd startled him. Wide grey-green eyes looked at her in alarm. He seemed frightened . . . of her?

She didn't know what to say. "It's OK Jane. It's just me. We're at the hospital." The feeling of dread forming somewhere in her midsection just tightened up a notch.

He continued to stare at her and she could see him trembling. "It's OK. No one's going to hurt you. We have to go into the Emergency Room and get you checked out. Can you get out of the car? Do you want me to help you?"

She reached slowly toward him and he frantically pulled the door open, forgetting to undo his seat-belt in his haste to escape her touch. It gave her enough time to hurry around to the passenger side before he disentangled himself and stood breathing heavily next to the still open door of the SUV, his entire body seeming to shudder.

"Come on, it's OK, let's go into the hospital to get you looked at. It's going to be fine, you'll see. Trust me. OK?" She spoke to him as though he were a frightened child or overly skittish animal.

Though he still trembled, he seemed to get hold of himself and nodded his head sharply. She heard him take a shaky breath and then he began walking toward the automatic sliding glass door of the ER. Saying nothing, she walked beside him, her mind screaming. She dared not try to touch him again.

...

The doctor had checked him over carefully. Listened to his heart, took his blood pressure, checked his eyes for any sign of a head injury. The abrasions on his wrists, though painful looking, required only cleaning, antibiotic salve and light bandaging. There was no other physical damage that could be ascertained.

She motioned to the doctor as Jane was carefully watching the nurse who gave him an injection of antibiotics before cleaning and bandaging his wrists. He flinched when the woman touched him but perhaps it was only from the discomfort of his injuries hoped Lisbon. The doctor followed her out of the curtained-off area and out of earshot of the patient.

"Doctor, he's not acting quite right, I think there's something wrong with him." the crease between her dark brows reinforced the worry in her voice.

"What do you mean agent Lisbon?" asked the young medic. He'd obviously not been here long enough to acquire the tough shell and brusque demeanor of the usual ER physicians with which she'd dealt. He had sad brown eyes that seemed to hold genuine concern.

"He's way to calm. He hates hospitals and would usually be complaining with every breath and whining to get out of here as quickly as possible. This calmness is very unlike him."

"So, you're saying that a cooperative patient _isn't_ a good thing?" smiled the doctor uncertainly.

"I'm saying that a cooperative Patrick Jane isn't a good thing. I don't know if you are completely aware of what he went through. Yes, he was probably drugged and he was bound against his will but . . . he was also most likely . . . sexually molested by his captor."

"Oh" said Dr. Carmona in surprise. He'd not been informed of anything other than the obvious possible physical trauma his patient had been subjected to until this discussion with the petite agent.

"Did the guy that had him do anything other than touch him?" asked the young doctor.

"It wasn't a guy."

"Oh" said said Dr. Hugo Carmona, his second surprise of the night concerning this one patient. "

Lisbon looked into the face of the young physician to see if there was any disbelief or humor lurking there. Her limited experience was that it's dismissed as inconsequential for men to be the victim of women; that a man wouldn't be all that bothered by the advances of a woman, no matter how unwanted they were. That it was somehow humorous that the situation even existed. She knew that men and woman sometimes seemed from different planets if not an entirely different universe but, she'd raised her three brothers; they weren't _that_ much different.

"It is a bit unusual", said Carmona earnestly " . . . for a male to be assaulted by a female but, it does happen. No matter what people may think, it's as upsetting for men as it is for women to be the victim of a sexual assault.

"I'm not sure how he'll deal with this. So far, not very well" her eyes glistened with unshed tears as the doctor regarded her with a sympathetic expression.

"I can give you the name of someone who specializes in helping victims of sexual trauma. I've referred a few others to him. I know that he's treated men but, it was almost always male to male trauma. I don't know how much practice he's had with this situation."

Because of his past, she knew that Jane could see this in many different ways and how he reacted to it would be something she had no way of knowing. What she did know was that even though he appeared calm enough now, he wasn't himself. She was worried.

"I would very much like the name of someone specializes in this sort of thing. Thank you."

"Wait here." said Doctor Carmona and quickly hurried off down the hall; his white jacket flapping loosely with each step.

At that moment, Jane came from behind the curtain, having been given the release forms for which he wouldn't have normally waited. He held the sheaf of papers in his hand as if barely noticing there were there.

He looked pale and drawn but, that wouldn't be unusual for someone who'd been put through an unimaginably trying situation and probably hadn't had any sleep for at least two days. He smiled at her but she could see that it didn't show in his eyes. He stood silently and patiently; waiting for his next instruction.

Doctor Carmona came hurrying back down the hallway. Lisbon warned him off with her eyes and he intuited that she didn't want him handing her the shrink's number in front of Jane.

"Well, Mr. Jane, I see that you've gotten the paperwork that says you can leave this wonderful establishment. Good luck to you. Hope we don't have to see you again any time soon, OK?" he smiled with even white teeth.

Jane shook his hand and mumbled a thank you and walked toward the automatic doors that wooshed open as he approached. The doctor slipped a card into Lisbon's hand before she followed her consultant out the door with a whispered, "Good Luck with your friend." from the young doctor.

She followed Jane out into the bright sunlight of a Sacramento morning.

...

She pulled out her cell to contact Cho and see if they were anywhere near to wrapping up the crime scene.

He answered on the second ring, "Yeah, Boss?"

"You guys gonna be here soon? Jane's out sooner than I thought."

"Yeah, we're actually almost there. Sac County Sheriffs took over the clean-up. The county coroner already left with the body."

"Good. We'll wait out front 'till you get here and we can all ride back together."

"See you in a couple of minutes." answered her 2IC before the call ended.

She looked over at Jane and then motioned for him to sit on one of the concrete benches that squatted on either side the ER doors. It would feel good to sit in the sun for a few minutes. She was nearly shivering after the air-conditioned arctic of the ER and the unrelenting tension she'd felt since being reunited with her consultant.

Jane, once again, docilely did as he was told and sat down on one end of the bench while Lisbon plopped down at the other end. She was wondering what to say. She didn't want to upset him before the drive back to HQ. It would be uncomfortable especially with the others trapped in the same vehicle.

Suddenly, she remembered the object she needed to return to Jane.

"Oh, before I forget . . . " She said to him as she reached into her front pocket and pulled out the ring. The band lay shining innocently in her palm and she held it out toward him.

He looked at it as though she held something alive in her hand. The emotions that traced across his face began with sorrow and ended in anguish. He slowly reached to take it from her. He looked at his bare left hand and then back at the ring. He took a shuddering breath and seemed frozen in place as he continued to stare at the small golden object in his hand.

"What's wrong Jane? It's your ring, the one you always wear." Thinking that it would comfort him, she took it and attempted to place it back on his finger. His hands were icy cold and began to shake.

"Jane? Patrick?" she whispered in alarm.

He drew his hand away as though he been burned by the polished metal and looked at her with naked anguish as tears pooled in his eyes and began to trail down his pale cheeks.

"I can't." he choked out in a near whisper

"You can't what, Patrick?" she asked, her heart twisting in her chest.

"I can't put it back on. I promised her I would never take it off and would never allow another woman to touch me until she said it was OK."

"Patrick, she can't tell you it's OK or not OK, she's not here anymore."

"I promised!" he nearly yelled, voice breaking in anguish

"You didn't break your promise. It was something that happened you had no control over!" she tried to argue, knowing that he probably wasn't even able to hear her, let alone come to the same conclusion.

"I could have fought harder! I could have gotten away! I should have been able to get away from her . . . touching me!"

Now he was shivering violently. She so desperately wanted to hug him and make his pain go away. She knew she couldn't touch him. He was like something feral that wouldn't welcome any contact from a human hand . . . maybe not ever again. Her heart broke into tiny little jagged pieces. If only she could convince him that he had no control over what had happened; that it wasn't his fault.

"Patrick!" she said loudly to get his eyes to focus on her. "No matter what you think, _you're_ the victim. There was nothing you could have done. Please don't blame yourself. Can't you see that the woman who abducted you was totally insane and had done this to other men? That you were very lucky to survive this? Six other men hadn't survived and you were a strong, smart and brave man to have done so".

"Man, Lisbon? What kind of man? Certainly not one who could protect his family! Not one who could even protect himself from a woman!" His voice rang across the parking lot. The anger in it making her flinch.

"Patrick, it's not your fault. Neither of those things was your fault." she said softly her own tears now sliding down her cheeks.

The look of self-hatred on his face made her desperately want to gather him into her small embrace and hold him until the knowledge of his guiltlessness would somehow seep from her body into his . . . but, she couldn't touch him. She could only watch him self-destruct.

They sat silently side by side; the uncaring sun shone brightly down on them as though nothing had changed last night in the dark.

...

TBC

**We'll find out more about Marla in the next chapter. I'm kinda going to miss her.**


	15. Chapter 15

Blood Music - Chapter Fifteen

**More info on Marla. Lots of Jane-pain. Please let me know if you think his reaction is realistic. I'm kinda in over my head on this one. Thank you so so much for reviews, alerts and favorites. I truly appreciate any input.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the show or the characters. Don't even own a computer. No money was made . . . crap!**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

The day was bright and pleasant, if a little humid. The rain had washed the air clean and they breathed in it's tantalizing promise of something better.

After the breakdown in front of the ER, which only Lisbon had witnessed, Jane had once more withdrawn into his eerily calm self.

A black and white from Sac PD had dropped off the three agents in front of the ER entrance and Lisbon had handed the keys to Cho so that he could bring the SUV around. As soon as it pulled up in front of them, Jane and Lisbon had climbed into the big, multi-seat vehicle and Cho steered them back out to the highway toward home.

The ride back to HQ was subdued. Any time the others tried to engage their consultant in conversation, he would answer them politely and smile but never elaborated or engaged in any real exchange.

VanPelt and Rigsby looked at each other surreptitiously; concern in their quick glance at one another. This certainly wasn't the man they were used to. Even after other trying situations they'd been through together, he couldn't be quiet for long. There was no dry humor, no witty observations, not even the occasional biting sarcasm of which he was capable.

With Cho driving and VanPelt riding shotgun, Rigsby and Lisbon were seated behind them with Jane in the last row of seats in back.

"VanPelt, what did you find out about the drug in the dish?" asked her boss. For once the silence getting to her.

The redhead turned in her seat to answer, her eyes again catching Rigsby's with the unspoken question . . . _What the hell's the matter with him?_

The tall man just looked back at his former paramour with his wide blue eyes and an almost un-noticeable shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Well" she began "It's an inhalable form of insulin they were testing at Hapwell Laboratories; the place where that crazy . . . err, where Marla Mulhulland worked. It, so far, isn't practical because it's too hard to control the dosage."

"Is that what killed all those blonde guys?" asked Rigsby

"As a matter of fact, I called the M.E. to give them the info after finding out what the powder was. They'd just come up with the C.O.D. themselves. The vics died of insulin overdose. It would cause convulsions, (a flash of Marla thrashing on the bloody carpet blinked briefly into her mind), and coma and, ultimately, death if not immediately taken care of."

"Wish we'd found that out sooner, though it may not have changed anything." said Lisbon with annoyance in her voice.

"It's apparently not something they would usually check for in younger, healthy men." answered VanPelt as though Lisbon had actually asked the question; _why the fuck didn't they find it sooner!_

"She probably subdued them with chloroform and then eventually killed them with the insulin." said Lisbon "Jane was the only lucky one to get an injection of a sedative. She wasn't crazy enough until then to leave any marks on her victims."

Except for the driver who looked into the rear-view mirror at the blonde man in the last seat, they all turned toward their consultant to see if he had any reaction to Lisbon's surmise. He was only staring out the window as though he'd never heard any of it.

This time they didn't try to hide the look they gave each other.

VanPelt delicately cleared her throat and continued her findings: "Marla Ann Mulhulland, nee Sitwell, had married one Roger David Mulhulland in 2005. In 2007, she filed a missing persons report saying that he'd gone off to a nightclub and she never saw him again. He was never found. The MP unit investigated but didn't come up with anything."

"After awhile they stop looking, it's not like they don't have hundreds of other people to search for." volunteered Cho who'd been nearly as silent as Jane up to this point.

The redhead continued: "I talked to Roberson from MP and he pulled a file for me. He said they'd come to the unofficial conclusion that Roger had wanted to disappear. He'd recently announced to his family that he was gay and had filed for divorce."

"No wonder she went bonkers." muttered Lisbon "There's no way to compete in a situation like that."

They all nodded their heads in agreement except for the blonde man behind them. He probably didn't even hear anything they'd said. One by one they'd come to the realization that, right now, they probably couldn't help him. Whatever help he needed was beyond their skills. They could only worry and be there for him. Once again, it became quiet in the SUV as it rolled toward its destination.

...

The shiny black vehicle was nearly to the city limits when Jane spoke. "Uhh could you guys just drop me off at home?"

"Yeah, sure." said Lisbon a little hesitantly. "You know we . . . meaning you also . . . have to fill out reports on what just happened?"

"I know, let me get cleaned up and changed and I'll be in to fill out the reports." the blonde man actually rolled his eyes at the mention of paperwork. At least he was a little more like himself as he exited the vehicle that had pulled up to the front of the two story glass, wood and steel apartment building; a retro mid-century modern. Jane hadn't chosen it for its architecture, only its liveability and close proximity to HQ.

"I'll see you guys in about forty-five minutes." he said with a half-hearted wave as they drove away. He wearily climbed the steps to the second floor and stopped in front of his door and reached into his pocket for his keys. When he pulled them out, something gave a small clink as it fell to the concrete and rolled a little way before it hit the metal threshold and came to a stop.

It was his ring.

He stood frozen with the keys in his hand as he looked downward. He didn't remember putting it in his pocket, in fact, he really didn't remember much of anything of the past two days and nights. It frightened him.

He bent down to pick it up and could see himself visibly shaking. It was almost as though someone else's hand had snatched up the gold band. He quickly tucked it back into his pocket. As he straightened, he felt his head begin to swim and his skin begin to prickle. He braced himself against the doorframe with his left hand while his right made several failed attempts to fit the key into the lock.

He felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. _Maybe it was low blood sugar?_ He hadn't eaten anything since . . . he couldn't even remember eating. _Maybe it was the antibiotic injection?_

He finally turned the key and nearly fell in the door as it swung open and banged loudly against against the wall behind it.

He was really dizzy now. The floor seemed to roll like the rumpling of a shaken blanket. He managed to slam the door shut before he leaned his back against it and slowly slid to the floor. He felt so odd.

He closed his eyes as an image of blood and cherubs flashed against the inside of his eyelids. He tried to stand and lurched, crawled toward the bathroom and barely made it before losing whatever was in his stomach; there wasn't much and he was left with only the painful torture of dry heaves for several more moments. He lay with his head on the cool tile floor for a few minutes before feeling well enough to stand on rubbery legs.

He needed to get clean. He hurriedly kicked off his shoes and tore off his socks, wind-breaker and Levi's and the briefs he wore under them leaving all in a heap in the middle of the bathroom floor. He turned on the shower to the hottest temperature he could stand, stepped under it and reached for the bar of soap on the built-in shelf that was part of the shower.

Lather, rinse, lather, rinse, lather, rinse. He couldn't get the dirt off. Lather, rinse.

The water began to cool and he looked down at his body which was now bright red with the heat from the shower and the overly vigorous scrubbing. He still wasn't clean . . . he'd never get clean . . .

Suddenly, the feeling overwhelmed him and he sank to the shower floor as the hot water sprayed down on him. He sobbed with anger and grief and guilt; he sobbed until the water sluicing over him became icy.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Blood Music

Chapter Sixteen

**Here's another. This damned thing won't die! I wasn't planning on more than about six chapters! Just more weird behavior - no shootings, stabbings, poisonings . . . hope you're not too bored. Please review if you'd be so kind. I also thank you for favorites and alerts. Haven't quite figured out yet how to keep track of them. I really do appreciate them, even if you haven't received a thank you from me.**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Do I even have to say it anymore?**

**Mistakes: mine**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Still Missing

The elevator dinged and familiar footfalls tapped softly across the hard surface of the hallway flooring and into the bull-pen.

The three agents looked up at once. There was their consultant, once again attired in his unique ensemble of a three-piece suit in some varying shade of grey. He still looked pale but his hair was combed and had dried into its familiar chaotic but attractive jumble of half-hearted curls. He smiled brightly at everyone and apologetically said, "Sorry I'm a little late" without offering an explanation as to why.

Without looking up at his team again, he strode across the bull-pen to Lisbon's office and rapped politely on the glass partition before the petite agent looked up with her dark brows knitted in a quizzical expression. With a slight wave of her hand, she bade him enter.

_Hmm_ she thought, _he's never had reservations before about just barging in . . . well, to be honest, he was getting better about it._ It had been a point of contention nearly since they'd first starting working together.

Something was still amiss. Lisbon's eyes flashed quickly toward his left hand; it was still bare; a narrow tan line visible in the brightness of the sunlight slanting in through the blinds its only evidence of the recent vacancy.

He smiled at her as he entered her office and sat in one of the two hideously uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk. She'd never replaced them because they didn't encourage long visits. She had enough work to do.

_Something else isn't right._, she thought. He should be dropping onto her sofa and sighing tiredly, then feigning sleep. Instead he sits at attention and stares at her like a cattle-dog waiting for the instruction to 'round 'em up'.

"Jane" she said in greeting with a cautious smile, not risking the obvious question; _How are you feeling?._

She knew he probably wouldn't answer her with any truth and she thought it perhaps a risky question in light of his emotional display in front of the ER. He gave no indication that anything had ever been amiss. He had a pleasant smile on his face as he looked at her expectantly.

He stomach began to tighten.

"Read these reports and see if there's anything you can add to the detail. Here's the report forms you need to fill out. I know that you prefer to write them out instead of doing it the easy way on the computer.", she smiled and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

His ways were sometimes quaint, from his mode of dress to the cup and saucer he used for his tea. Everyone else had a mug. Everyone else used the computer to file reports. This was just another one of his eccentricities that were sometimes annoying but she usually considered them somewhat entertaining . . . though she'd never let him know that.

"Sure." he said genially as he took the reports and blank forms from her hand and looked down at them. The smile left his face as he glanced at the neat text on the computer print-outs of the incident reports.

He walked back toward his desk. He was neither smiling nor frowning. His face had become as impassive as her 2IC, the notoriously dead-panned Kimball Cho.

That he chose to work at his desk was also odd. He usually used it only as a place to store books or research material. The chair was used only as a place to hang his jacket. He rarely used it as a desk.

She watched him through the glass partition of her office and sighed as she ran her hand through her dark hair to push it behind her ear. She had to do something if he didn't come out of whatever state he was in.

She could see him at his desk reading over the two reports that had already been filed by Cho and Van Pelt, usually the two fastest in filling out paperwork. Cho's reports were always spare and concise, Van Pelt's a little more verbose and likely to contain asides about the mental state of the suspect, etc. Cho's were sometimes a little too brief, Van Pelt's too lengthy but, it all evened out.

Both she and Rigsby were still working on their versions of the rescue and the subsequent fatal shooting of the suspect. Rigsby was just a little slow at it but, as Senior-Agent-in-Charge, she had many more forms to file whenever anyone had to draw a gun, let alone use it. The fact that the suspect had died added several more reams of paper, probably resulting in the clearing of at least one, good-sized, forest.

_Alright_, she thought to herself, _I have been at this too long. Now I'm annoyed because someone has inconvenienced us by dying . . . even if she did sort of deserve it for what happened to Jane . . . not to mention at least six others. _Her conscious was clear. _I'm not going to lose any sleep over that crazy bitch! _she thought, then sighed and went back to her many, many pages of paperwork.

Jane read Cho's report first. It contained mostly physical facts; only once mentioning Marla's disturbed state when they confronted her. It was like reading something about some other guy they'd found tied to a bed while a stand-off leading to gunfire took place in the same room.

He picked up Grace's version. She included details of Marla's behavior, the woman's emotional state and more detail of the way the scene looked when they'd all burst into the room.

_Distraught suspect was found standing on left side of bed and holding a small glass dish containing an unknown substance which she threatened to throw onto her captive. Consultant Jane was tied to the bed posts with what appeared to be silk cording. He also appeared to be unconscious. After the shooting of and subsequent death of suspect, later confirmed as Marla Mulhulland, Consultant Jane was not responsive when spoken to. His clothing had been previously removed except for his trousers and . . . ._ Jane could once again feel the prickling of his skin and the hot and cold as though he was sitting in a freezing meat locker with a space heater on full blast. His mouth was dry and his stomach began to do its twisting as it had when he'd arrived home.

Both Cho and Rigsby were watching him surreptitiously as he ran his hand over his face and blinked rapidly as though to clear his vision. He set the report face-down on the desk and rose shakily to walk toward the hallway that led to the men's room.

Rigsby looked alarmed and caught Cho's eye. The Asian man motioned for him to follow Jane. He didn't look good and Cho didn't trust that he was OK to make it all the way down the hallway to the men's room, if that was where he was going.

Rigsby got up and waited until Jane had turned the corner before striding after him. He wanted to make sure Jane was OK but, he didn't want to let the consultant know he was being watched so closely. It wasn't something he'd like if he knew.

He saw the blonde man steady himself by placing one hand against the wall. He'd stopped to take several deep breaths before trying to forge on to his destination which was only a few feet away. Suddenly, his legs folded and he collapsed as though boneless. Rigsby barely managed to get to him and partially break his fall before his head bounced off the travertine.

"Hey!" said the tall man "Jane?" He patted the unconscious man's face and was surprised to feel it cold in spite of the sheen of sweat. "Cho! Grace!" he yelled toward the bull pen, "Jane collapsed! Get the boss!"

Glancing up and without hearing Rigsby's call for assistance, Lisbon saw both Cho and Van Pelt bolt from their chairs and rush toward the hallway. She knew something had happened to Jane. No one had to tell her to dash out of her office and rush toward the hallway as well.

She came around the corner and saw Rigsby and Cho on their knees by the prone man. "Van Pelt! Get the EMT's here!" she ordered the redhead who had a stricken look on her face and was poised in mid flight to rush back toward the bull pen.

"No, no . . . not needed. 'm OK. Just dizzy." came a raspy sounding voice from the floor.

"Stay down man." said Cho as he unsuccessfully tried to get the consultant to abandon his struggle to sit up by placing his hand on the man's chest.

Jane looked up at the small crowd that had now gathered around him and smiled reassuringly.

"Didn't eat today" he said sheepishly to the people in his unit and a few others who continued to stare at him in concern. "Sorry for the dramatics." he added

"Jane, get your ass into my office. Rigsby hold onto him." ordered Lisbon, her harsh order hiding the concern she felt.

The blonde man took the offer of Rigsby's hand to help him up from the floor but, waived Rigsby off as they reached Lisbon's doorway and the tall man reluctantly let go of his arm after first looking toward Lisbon for the OK to do so.

"Sit down, Patrick" she said using his given name. Jane noticed her unusually informal way of addressing him but made no mention of it as he once again took a seat opposite her.

"I don't know what's going on with you. I can guess but it won't do either of us any good if we don't do something about it."

"About what?" asked Jane looking genuinely confused at her statement.

"About your reaction to what happened to you the last couple of days." she said looking directly into grey/green eyes.

"I'm perfectly fine Lisbon." he said defensively before she even uttered a word about his most recent mishap, "I just haven't eaten anything today."

"Yeah, you're just fine Jane. Freaking out at the hospital and then passing out here in the hallway. Sure, you're just fine. Don't give me that crap." she said it a little too sharply, her worry making her strident and brittle.

"I freaked out?" asked Jane, his expression clearly one of confusion as he stared back at her, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

"Don't you remember?" she asked, her voice now softer with concern.

"I, ahh, don't remember much to be honest." muttered Jane looking down toward his lap as though embarrassed he couldn't recall any details of his ordeal.

"What do you remember?" she asked softly, her heart once again beginning to pound in her chest, surprised that he couldn't hear it in the small enclosed space of her office.

"Just a few things", he said almost desperately as though she'd be angry if he couldn't enumerate them. "Ahh . . . the music from the club, being bounced around in a car . . . blood."

"Do you remember anything else about your incarceration? What happened at the house before we reached you?"

He didn't really answer her.

"My wrists hurt." he said, looking anew at his now unbandaged wrists. The cuffs of his light blue shirt were stained with small dots of blood from the places that hadn't yet scabbed over.

Lisbon looked beyond him toward the bull pen. Three sets of eyes quickly looked downward as three agents scrambled to look busy when her eyes flicked over them.

"Jane, we're all worried about you." she said looking at the man who was now staring intently at the red abrasions on his skin as though wondering how they got there.

He looked up, his blonde brows raised, "Worried?"

"Yes, worried. You haven't been yourself since we picked you up from that woman's house. You've been quiet and distant and . . . too damned cooperative!" she added, her voice rising as though in anger but due only her worry.

"What? You always bitch about my lack of cooperation. Now you're bitching because I am cooperative? That really doesn't make sense you know." he said as though speaking to a five-year-old.

"When you get docile and compliant, that's a time for worry. It's not like you. Fainting on the damned floor is also not like you . . . even though I wouldn't put it past you to fake it if you thought it would get you something you wanted."

"Oh, please." said her consultant dismissively with a wave of one graceful hand.

_Well at least now he sounds more like the Patrick Jane I know,_ she thought as she was trying to mentally organize what she wanted to say.

She had to be careful. She sensed that he was on the edge of a very deep abyss. She didn't want to push him any further toward it.

She didn't want to witness his disintegration . . . his final flame-out. That's what she felt was happening. The kidnaping and what ever else had gone on at that house had unhinged him in a way she'd never seen.

He was the blithe man who could let things that would surely drive others to physical assault, just roll off his back. He never much paid attention to other people's expectations, certainly not hers. He was different now. Worried that he'd upset her, worried that he'd say the wrong thing.

Lisbon didn't think herself particularly sensitive or intuitive but she knew her friend was in trouble. She knew he had to get help. She also knew that he wouldn't go along with it unless she held a gun to his head . . . even that wasn't a guarantee.

She had to get him to agree to see the shrink who's card lay in her upper right-hand drawer.

_Good luck with that_, she could hear Cho's voice in her head as her eyes once again locked with his and her heart continued to noisily thud in her chest.

_Yeah, good luck._

TBC

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Remember Marla's husband? We find out what happened to him in the next chapter though I'm sure it won't surprise anyone. Not even me.


	17. Chapter 17

Blood Music - Chapter Seventeen

**Here's another installment of the story that I can't kill with a stick. Thank you for all of your reviews, alerts and favorites. I still get the warm fuzzies when I read them and I never, never take you kind people for granted. Your comments on my stories, good or bad, are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: When I win the lotto, they're mine! Until then, I don't own them and make no money from this strange obsession.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Blood, Wine and Roses

It had been nearly four weeks since his rescue. In most ways, life was much the same as before for Patrick Jane and the rest of the team. Cases were investigated and resolved or, depending on the findings, continued.

Today, (a brilliantly sunny day), a handsome, well-dressed, blonde man of middle height arrived at CBI Headquarters.

He identified himself as one Roger David Mulhulland.

They acknowledged that it was very nice of him to come in, considering they'd been looking for him, (though not very hard), for the past three years. They didn't admit he wasn't a priority until his ex-wife had killed six other guys who looked just like him.

Roger Mulhulland was an attractive and well-spoken man with hair the same shade of gold as their consultant's, though it wasn't quite as curly. It was eerie how much they resembled one another; the only real difference in description: Mulhulland's eyes were blue instead of grey-green.

After their recovery from the shock of a supposed dead man simply walking into HQ, he was taken into an interrogation room to get a statement.

Their consultant was known to barge into an ongoing interrogation when he couldn't contain the need ask questions - seeking the odd details he found so revealing. Lisbon thought it odd that Jane didn't join them as he usually did. She assumed that he knew Mulhulland had come in. He was kind of freaky that way . . . finding things out without being told or even being in the vicinity.

The formerly missing man began with a straitforward recounting of the whys and hows. After announcing to Marla that he wanted a divorce, Roger Mulhulland expected it to go as divorces usually went; stressful and agonizing but, ultimately for the best when one or sometimes both parties had concluded that staying together was not an option. He didn't expect her to stalk him relentlessly. He changed his name and left the state.

The two men sat in the interrogation room, a metal table between them. Cho had his note pad in front of him and he was staring at the blonde man with his usual keen, unblinking gaze, pen poised over paper.

"I didn't think she'd go that far." he said almost dazedly. "She really is . . . was such a nice person. She just kinda went off the rails when I left. I never meant to cause her that much grief."

His bright blue eyes became glassy with unshed tears and he continued "I tried to ignore my . . . orientation but, after awhile, I felt as though I was suffocating. I began having panic attacks and missing work. So many things that I, finally, couldn't just wish away. I had to tell her. I tried to be gentle but . . . she didn't take it well. Not that anyone would expect her to . . . "

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and Cho handed him a tissue from the box on the desk.

"I'm so sorry." he said through his silent tears.

"When did you suspect it was her?" asked Cho; not reacting to the distress exhibited by Marla Mulhulland's ex.

"I suspected it by the fourth or maybe it was the fifth guy. I'd been out of the country for awhile. I . . . " he hesitated momentarily trying to gauge the man before him. "I was on my honeymoon, I'd finally met a guy . . . "

"Congratulations." said Cho as the teary man nodded a thank you

Mulhulland was somewhat surprised at the response he'd gotten from the stone-faced man sitting on the other side of the table. He never knew what reaction he'd get from such a statement, especially from a cop. It had been getting easier lately. He didn't often see that look of disgust any longer. The look that Marla had given him the last time he'd seen her.

He took a deep breath and continued his story. "When I got back, I heard about the last murder, the guy they found on a soccer field or something. I saw the picture of the victim in the paper and it dawned on me that there was a strong resemblance to myself. I did some more research and realized that all of the victims looked like me.

The news reports said that the cause of death couldn't be determined. I knew that Marla worked with experimental drugs that weren't yet on the market. I thought perhaps there could be a connection. I didn't want to think it was Marla. I really didn't think she was capable of something like that. I'm so sorry I didn't come forward sooner. Maybe I could have prevented it from happening. I mean that last guy and Marla . . . I really did care about her, you know?"

He looked down, his face a mixture of shame and guilt and sadness. When he looked up again, there was a familiar looking man sitting next to the agent who'd started the interview. He hadn't heard anyone come into the room. The two blonde men looked at each other unblinkingly across the table.

"You're the undercover cop that got taken, right?" he said to Jane without hesitation.

"Yes." was all that the consultant answered without his usual disclaimer that he really wasn't a cop, just a consultant.

"Did she hurt you?" asked Roger Mulhulland in a soft but concerned voice.

"No, not really." answered the man next to agent Cho.

"I'm glad." Mulhulland breathed. "You know, she wasn't always that way." tears were once again beginning to shine in his eyes. "She was so sweet and kind and beautiful. I thought I could make it work. I tried so hard not to hurt her . . . " his voice trailed off as a tear slid down his cheek. Cho handed him another tissue.

"I'm so sorry." said Mulhulland once again looking at Jane. The three men sat in silence for another few moments. Cho because he was waiting for Mulhulland to get it together enough to continue his statement; the other two for their own unspoken reasons.

"Don't be sorry." said Jane, "We all have too much to be sorry for if we don't really think it through. If we were realistic, there almost always was nothing that could have been done differently. Guilt isn't productive, it's a waste of your time and energy. It will destroy you if you let it."

The sadness in Jane's eyes was reflected in his near mirror image on the other side of the table. The consultant stood and walked toward the door. He turned to Roger Mulhulland and said softly, "Be well." and the door closed behind him.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Because this was such a high-profile case, Lisbon felt that its resolution deserved more than just a take-out pizza which was their usual celebration after closing a case. The director, himself, had congratulated her and her team for solving it; telling her the state would pay for a dinner out as reward and to make it a good one as the offer was so rare.

Lisbon let Rigsby pick the restaurant this time. Anyone who was as enthusiastic as he was about food - any kind of food - had to know of a decent restaurant.

She was surprised when he came up with this place. She'd never really been a fan of this type of cuisine but she thought the others, particularly Jane, would enjoy it. It certainly beat pizza, even with pineapple on it.

In the past, she'd always gotten her restaurant recommendations from her worldly consultant. He'd never picked one that was less than excellent; from roadside diner to more elaborate fare.

Jane had been keeping to himself in his dusty attic office/thinking room. She rarely saw him come down to his couch in the bullpen. It was one of the many things that gave her concern about his behavior since his run-in with that crazy woman in that creepy house.

She'd gone upstairs to look for him but, he was nowhere to be found. She realized she'd never given Rigsby the opportunity to choose an eatery so she went back downstairs to the bullpen to ask him to suggest a place. He was pleased to do so. She expected it to be a steakhouse with huge slabs of bloody prime rib and mountains of buttery baked potatoes. This was definitely a surprise.

Music came wafting from speakers inset into the high ceiling which was was painted a wonderfully fresh blue with puffy white clouds floating overhead. Birds flew gracefully through it. The ceiling was a masterpiece of trompe l'oeil. Undoubtedly a very expensive one.

Rigsby thought it reminded him of the ceiling of the shopping mall at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas but it didn't have the cool lighting effects that could make it seem to go from dawn to dusk within a few minutes. _Couldn't have everything . . . _

Cho immediately recognized the shmaltzy music. It was that song again; 'La Vie en Rose'. _Well, French restaurant, French song_ . . . he hoped the food was better than the music. He'd also hoped to never have to listen to it again. It still sort of gave him the creeps when it brought the memory of that crazy woman's house with all that Victorian crap in it. He looked up to make sure that cherubs were not part of the flock of winged creatures flying across the painted ceiling-sky.

Their cute, raven-haired waitress suddenly appeared with a round brass tray on which sat their drinks. She gave them all a sunny smile as she set them before each person and seemed to linger a little longer as she set the glass of Bordeaux before the blonde man who smiled back at her with the light of a sunrise.

_Here we go again_, thought Cho. What was it that women found so attractive about Jane? He wasn't tall, he wasn't muscular. In Cho's opinion, he wasn't even that good looking. The guy was no Brad Pitt or George Clooney but women seemed to fall all over him. Of course, not being a woman, he'd probably never figure it out. It still annoyed him though.

"Are you all ready to order yet?" their waitress asked with a manic chirpiness now that she'd taken her eyes off of Jane.

"Could you give us another minute?" asked Lisbon, still trying to decide between the boeuf bourguinon or the coq au vin. She wasn't really very adventurous when it came to food but, she at least recognized the names of those dishes.

They were all still studying the menu. Their conversation about the case they'd just wrapped up yesterday had taken much of the time usually used for such things before placing one's order.

This was a nice enough place, even if he didn't recognize most of the things on the menu, thought Rigsby. A friend of his had recommended it as a good place to take a date because of the pleasant atmosphere but also told him to save it for someone really special as it was a little pricey. This was his chance to check it out. From what he could see of the prices, his date would have to be a very special girl indeed. Someone like the beautiful red-haired woman next to him . . . but, he wouldn't go there, at least not tonight. This was supposed to be a celebration.

The atmosphere was faux brickwork and trompe l'oeil scenery of the French countryside. Cho thought it was kind of tacky but at least it was well executed.

Rigsby thought the food would probably be even better than stuff from the taco truck that pulled up in front of HQ every day at lunch. _Those tacos were pretty good though . . ._

Candles in antiqued wrought iron holders flickered in the center of each table though it wasn't dark out yet. The days were beginning to shorten again but it still didn't get dark until at least seven-forty-five.

Something was making him uneasy. Jane, looking intently at the menu which was done in a frivolous script font, began to feel his stomach tightening. The words didn't seem to stand still. The curled serifs and ornate upper case letters seemed to trail in a serpentine dance across the velum. He blinked rapidly to see if they'd stop moving but the letters continued their sinuous way across the paper.

He tried to ignore their movement and concentrate all the more. His stomach seemed to begin a dance of its own. His skin was now tingling with that familiar sensation; like being suspended in carbonation with each bubble exploding against his skin.

"Jane, are you OK? You look kind of pale." asked VanPelt with concern.

All eyes turned toward their consultant who appeared to be intently studying the menu, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Fine, I'm fine." he answered tersely without looking up.

Cho and Rigsby shrugged their shoulders in synchronization; something they oddly did along with other gestures or movements at times. _Perhaps they've been working together too long, _thought Lisbon.

After a long searching look at her consultant, which he didn't seem to notice, she went back to studying her menu. For some reason, she didn't feel quite as hungry as she did a moment ago.

Their chirpy little waitress, whose name was supposedly Suzette, came back to take their orders. Jane only wanted a cup of soup, French onion, of course. The others made no comment on his choice or lack of it. They all seemed to sense something was going on with him.

A corpulent older couple squeezed by their table. The man was dressed in a tan jump suit that made him look like a giant baked potato. The woman was dressed in a frilly sort of floral ensemble, her abundant hips brushed against Rigsby's shoulder as she passed. The heavy scent of rose cologne rolled off her, filling the air with its cloying sweetness.

Jane suddenly looked up from the table, his eyes startled and wide. His breathing seemed way too fast and there was a sheen of sweat his face.

"Jane?" said Lisbon with concern as he stood up and looked around the restaurant as though looking for something or someone.

"I have to go!" he announced abruptly, accidentally knocking over his wine glass onto the unblemished whiteness of the table cloth. The dark red liquid pooled before absorbing into its snowy surface. Jane froze, transfixed by the stain that soaked slowly into the pristine linen.

_Why does it smell like roses? There's so much of it so much . . . it should smell like metal, like iron . . . like it did before . . . it always smelled like copper. . . _

"Where are you going Jane? Sit down. We're too far from the office to walk." said Lisbon, her stomach now feeling as though she'd swallowed a brick.

"I have to go." he only repeated before backing away from the table and turning to rush off; nearly running into Suzette who carried a the tray with their salads on it.

With mouths agape, they watched his grey clad figure disappear toward the exit.

"I'll go after him." said Cho, the first one to speak.

Lisbon didn't object and no one else had anything to say as he stood and threw down his napkin, hurriedly threading his way through the tables and diners to go after their consultant.

"Boss, something's up with Jane. He hasn't been the same since we got him away from that nut-bag." said Rigsby

"Something's definitely wrong" added VanPelt, her face tense with worry.

"I know. Somethings been up with him for awhile. I mean even more than his usual . . . oddness. He won't . . . he just won't listen to me. I don't know how to help him if he won't listen." she said with a desperate, defeated tone as she slumped in her carved wooden chair.

Her two remaining agents only nodded in understanding. They knew it was going to be nearly impossible.

...

Jane was fast. He was out the door and nearly two blocks away before Cho caught a glimpse of his blonde hair in the distance. He'd almost lost him, only guessing which direction he'd taken. He turned east toward HQ.

The sky was beginning to darken. The air had become colder with the dying of the light. It was freakishly cool for this time of year. The difference between the daylight and the nighttime temperatures was several more degrees than usual. You could start your day in t-shirt and shorts but regret that you weren't wearing a coat by nightfall.

Cho followed the running man at about half a block distance. He'd done this before. He was pretty sure he knew what was the matter with Jane.

When he'd come back from military duty, one of the guys he'd kept in touch with had a bad case of PTSD and had flashbacks that would have him running like the devil himself was in pursuit. There were several times the guy's wife, friends and assorted relatives had chased him down the street, trying to get him to stop before something happened. Eventually something did. In his panic to get away from whatever or whomever was chasing him, he didn't see the delivery van rushing down the street. He didn't even make it to the hospital.

Cho ran harder.

The pace didn't let up for several more blocks. _How did Jane get to be so fast?_ Another of the mysteries of the man everyone and no one knew.

The chase finally ended at the park. Cho breathlessly surveyed the grassy expanse with the scattered mix of trees and shrubs. There didn't seem to be a plan for the greenery. It was a mixed bag of juniper, cypress, acacia, pine, ferns . . . you name it . . . scattered chaotically over the pleasant landscape. These things all grew in California. Everything but the economy grew here.

Underneath a full, leafy poplar, on a wooden bench sat the man he'd been chasing. He walked cautiously and quietly up to the blonde man, not wanting to startle him into running again. Cho was actually tired. It had been a long day. The last thing he wanted to do was go for a 10K after dinner. Well, sort of after dinner; his food was still back at the restaurant.

"You're pretty fast." he said as he sat down next to Jane on the peeling bench

Though Cho was still trying to catch his breath, Jane didn't seem winded. The evidence of his exertion was hair that had matted into sweat darkened curls.

"Comes in handy when someone's chasing you." said Jane absently without any hint of humor, his eyes fastened on the distance.

"Yeah, it would." said Cho still trying to breath normally.

They sat in silence for awhile before he heard Jane murmur softly to himself, "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

"What is it that you don't know?" asked the Asian man

There was no answer. It was as though Jane hadn't heard him.

"_I know_ that this is as far as I'm going to chase your ass." said Cho

"Sorry." said Jane turning toward him for the first time, eyes focussing on the sturdy, dark haired man. He now seemed in the present . . . at last.

They sat without further words until the last of the pinkish light left the sky. The evening was crisp and Jane shivered as he became aware of his sweat dampened clothes that did nothing to provide any warmth.

"Come on, man." said Cho gently taking his arm; noticing that Jane winced at his touch. He let the arm go and said, "They're going to be worried about us."

Jane nodded, looking resigned in the light from the old mercury vapor lights that blinked on at dusk throughout the park. There would't be any replacements for them until next year, even though they weren't the most energy efficient way of lighting the landscape; it would have to wait.

Jane knew that Lisbon wouldn't let this one go. He'd have to come up with a pretty good story to explain why he'd taken off like a scalded cat and he and Cho had wound up sitting on a bench in the middle of a city park when they should be finishing their creme brulee at a French restaurant.

Cho took out his phone to tell Lisbon that he'd found Jane and they were walking back to the office. They'd already run most of the way there, it was only a little further to the CBI building.

The other three members of the team were already at HQ and had been waiting to hear Cho's news of the pursuit. She signaled to Rigsby and VanPelt that the two were on their way. Both agents had been watching her tense face to see if it relaxed with relief and they were rewarded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her eyes closed and her head bowed forward to rest on her chest for a moment before looking up once again.

Dinner was in take-out containers in the fridge. They'd had the restaurant pack it all up for them, including the rolls and butter. The only thing missing was the wine. The only one of them who'd even had a bite of it was Rigsby who'd dug into the upscale doggy-bags not long after they'd returned. It seemed there was nothing that would deter the tall man from a meal.

Lisbon idly wondered if he was a stress eater. Everyone else lost their appetite but she knew that, for some people, stress was sometimes the trigger for an increased need to eat. When she thought about it awhile longer, she realized that Rigsby was a stress eater, also a boredom eater, an entertainment eater, hell, he was just what Cho had called him, a giant termite. At least one of them had an appetite as they waited for Cho and Jane to return.

...

The two men made their way back through the cool night. The stars weren't visible with the lights of the city interfering but, Jane knew they were there. He knew that they waited in the night sky, sparkling on the other side of the haze like he knew that, even though he couldn't see Angela, she waited for him. He had to talk with her. It was important. He only had to get away from the haze to see her.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC

Please review if you'd be so kind. It makes the sleepless nights spent tapping away on a keyboard worthwhile.


	18. Chapter 18

Blood Music

Chapter Eighteen

**Here's another one. It explains how Lisbon got her reluctant consultant to see the shrink. She's a tough woman in case you don't already know. I'm hoping to end this thing SOON! This is the longest story I've ever written and I'm way past the expiration date of my attention span. I'm not a shrink and don't know the legalities or process of same. Don't hit me, it will only make me cry. Pleeease review!**

**BTW: Takes place before the finale that haunts me still. Just pretend like I do.**

**Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish for them; Santa, apparently, hasn't taken me off his 'naughty' list. They still aren't mine and I still don't make any money from this thing. Only the mistakes are mine.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Facing the Music

"Jane, whether you're going to admit it or not, you've got a problem!" said his boss forcefully.

"Don't be ridiculous Lisbon, I'm fine. Perfectly fine." He said with a disdainful attitude and annoyingly dismissive wave of his hand.

_Well, he can cop all the attitude he wants_, thought Lisbon, she wasn't going to let it go. She couldn't let it go.

"Yeah, you're just fine Jane . . . if dashing out of a restaurant in the middle of a meal and almost running down a waitress or two on our way out is fine! If running more that five miles before a coworker could catch up to you is fine!. **Fine** isn't having a fucking panic attack and falling over every other day! You - Need- Help, DAMMIT!" she was now yelling.

He sat in a relaxed pose on her couch, (he'd recently begun to sit on it again, instead of perching in one of the chairs in front of her desk). Once again he exhibited the usual insolent smile; his eyes amused.

It didn't fool her.

If she didn't know him better, she'd think that nothing had ever happened. He'd never been taken, he'd never been drugged or tied-up, never had most of his clothing removed, he never . . . well, he wouldn't tell her any of the details, he'd never told anyone. He'd only said he couldn't remember.

"Jane, I know you think you're OK. I know you think there's been no change in your behavior since you were abducted but, those of us who know you . . . who care about you . . . know differently."

"Just how am I different, Lisbon?" he asked with a small smirk on his face. He knew that, indeed, he was different but, he would never admit it. His usual nightmares had taken another turn. Mixed in with the usual horrors of his past were new scenes of things that were disturbing in their own right. None of them made sense, (though it made them no less unsettling.) Getting some sleep would certainly help but, it didn't seem very likely to happen in the near future.

Luckily, everyone in the department had left for the day. It was another department's turn to work night-shift. Only Cho remained dedicatedly filling out the last of the incident reports. He was due to go on vacation in a couple of days and wanted to have all the loose ends tied before he could relax, though Lisbon couldn't imagine her 2IC anywhere close to relaxed.

Declining to answer his question regarding his post abduction behavior, she growled,"Jane, for the last time, are you going to get help?"

He only rolled his eyes and made that dismissive gesture; the one which, usually, made her want to throttle him.

She took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this; didn't want to put him through it. She had no other choice. She had to make him see just how much he needed to address the issue that was the elephant in the room - how fucking far from _fine_ he is.

Hesitantly, she came from behind her desk to sit next to him on the sofa. He turned to face her with his amused, if now puzzled, expression. She slowly and deliberately put her right hand on his shoulder and felt him flinch slightly as soon as her fingers brushed against the cloth of his vest.

She trailed it slowly down to his chest and felt his body tighten under her hand. His face held no emotion other than the slight smile he'd evinced earlier. His eyes never left her face. Leaving her hand on his chest, she put her other hand on his right shoulder and trailed it down toward where her right hand rested.

If it were possible to feel someone's body tighten as though a string on a bow, then she felt it beneath her hands.

She held his gaze in her own. His expression didn't change but his breathing quickened. His skin shone in the fluorescent lighting of her office. He began rapidly blinking his eyes as though something was causing him pain.

"Please, don't." he said softly.

She steeled herself and continued, sliding her hands slightly lower.

"Stop." he said, calmly enough, though she could now hear the distressed edge in his voice to match the tension in his body.

She left her hands where they were for another moment before sliding them lower toward his belt.

This time he pressed further into the cushions to get away from her, breaking contact, breathing raggedly and way too fast. His face had grown pale and she could see him begin to shudder.

Her heart breaking for him, she leaned forward and reached toward him.

"Stop it . . . please!" his voice broke and he tried to back further from her, sliding to the very end of the sofa. She could see the trembling now, his eyes wide and frightened.

Mr. 'biofeedback' who was always in control, couldn't stop his body from betraying him. He knew what she was doing. He knew but, couldn't stop his shudder, couldn't stop the rushing sound in his head.

It felt as though his skin burned where she touched him; almost as if, through his clothing, he could feel it blistering and sloughing off.

His skin remembered, even if his mind wouldn't . . . his skin remembered.

He tried to back farther away from her touch but there was nowhere to go. "Please! No!" his voice came out choked and barely more than a strangled whisper.

She, once again, placed her hands on his chest.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" he shouted and scrambled off the couch to retreat to a corner of the room, eyes wide and frightened, inhaling and exhaling in rapid pants.

The room began to spin. Little pin pricks again popped against his skin like exploding bubbles. His chest felt constricted, the tight band that seemed to be around it preventing him from catching his breath.

"Jane! It's OK, it's just me touching you. I would never hurt you. It's OK!" She pleaded with him to come back from where he'd gone. _Oh God, what if he couldn't? What if he stayed in that haunted place?_

She could feel the burning of tears in her eyes. _What did I do?_

He cowered in the corner, breathing heavily, eyes shut tight, face turned away and hands outstretched in defense. She knew he was probably having a panic attack. She'd seen him do it once before, a long time ago, when confronted with the bloody body of a child who looked remarkably like his Charlotte. She'd never told anyone. He'd recovered fairly quickly and only Cho was there with them. Nothing was ever said but she never forgot it.

"Patrick." she said gently, "It's just me. You know I would never hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. It's OK."

Now the room changed directions and began turning end over end. As he began to sway, she reached to steady him but not in time before he collapsed to the floor.

...

It was safe now. The only sound the roar of the surf and a child's laughter. He was back at his house on the beach. Charlotte was laughing as he piled more sand onto their creation and shaped it into a turret for the immense castle wherein dwelt the princess.

Angela laughingly called directions from under the umbrella a few feet away. She was always worried about sunburn. She had skin like porcelain, smooth and unblemished. He reveled in the sound of her voice. If there was heaven, it was here on this beach with his family. He never wanted to be anywhere else.

...

From his desk, Cho watched the scene play out on the other side of the glass wall. Until Jane yelled, he hadn't heard any of their conversation other than muffled voices.

The words were jarring. Though their consultant had been the _object_ of many screaming sessions, (by nearly the entire bureau by now), he'd never once raised his voice in return.

Cho knew the man got more mileage out of sarcasm and a smart comeback spoken in his low controlled voice. He, especially, played Lisbon like a violin, though she'd never admit it. Now, he was yelling loud, angry words at her.

Cho propelled himself toward her office. This couldn't be right.

Before he'd even reached her doorway, he saw Jane crumple to the floor like a sheet of wet cardboard. Lisbon wasn't able to break his fall in time and he hit the floor with an audible thump.

She knelt by his side as Cho skidded to a stop. The agent heard her speaking softly and soothingly though both of her hands rested on the floor in front of her and she didn't try to touch him.

"Should I get the EMT'S?" asked Cho calmly as though their consultant fainted and fell to the floor on a regular basis, (it _was_ beginning to seem that way).

"Let's just let him alone for a moment." she answered quietly. "He's obviously upset enough. I don't think waking up in a hospital emergency room would do him any good at this point."

Cho looked at her in doubt but said nothing. She was the boss.

In frustration, she ran her hand through her dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. She sat on the floor by the prone man's side and quietly waited for him to stir. He lay unmoving, his face pale but, oddly peaceful.

Cho stood over them. His corded arms folded over his chest as though standing guard over the two on the floor.

_Jane is really fucked up_, he thought, not for the first time since he'd known the quirky man.

...

"This isn't negotiable, Jane! Either you see someone or you won't be able to work here anymore."

His face gave nothing away; not shock, anger nor fear. He just stood looking at her; his clear eyes seeming to burrow into her soul. She didn't waver.

"Fine." he said finally with a tired sigh and turned and left, somehow the door closed silently behind him.

She exhaled the breath she didn't know she was holding . . . in what? Relief? No, that wasn't it. Guilt? . . . in spades. It was wrong to threaten a man already on the edge with something that would surely tip him over it.

...

He knew what had happened. He woke up on the floor again. She was sitting quietly next to him. There were tears in her eyes. He knew it was time. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't do that to her anymore. It was time.

...

She picked up her wallet and keys and stuffed them into her pockets. She'd long ago given up carrying a purse.

She strode out of the bullpen; calling to her 2IC at his desk. "I know it's early but, I'm going to lunch. See you in about an hour or so."

Cho only acknowledged her news with a nod and a small salute as her heels clicked across the floor toward the elevator.

It was unusual for their boss to even take a lunch. She usually worked at her desk while eating. Rigsby and VanPelt looked toward Cho as her diminutive figure disappeared around the corner

Of course, Cho never returned their look. They would have actually been surprised if he'd looked their way. To say the least, Kimball Cho, kept secrets. His own and those of anyone who entrusted him with them; spoken or unspoken.

...

The day was hot, muggy and hazy. _Damn_, thought Lisbon as her cotton T-shirt immediately began to cling to her. _I could get better weather predictions by looking into a fucking crystal ball!_

She made her way quickly across the baking asphalt and climbed into the SUV, turned the key and put the air on max, hoping it would take effect before she arrived at the doctor's office. She didn't want to show up looking a sweaty mess. After sitting in the sun, the interior of the car was hot enough to bake meat-loaf.

She slammed the gear-shift into reverse and quickly and carefully backed out of the tight space between a shiny red Porsche and Rigsby's shiny blue Mustang.

The Porsche, she knew, belonged to Kenny from the MP unit. He'd just gotten divorced for the third or maybe it was the fourth time and had sold his house; splitting the proceeds with his newest ex-wife. He blew the rest on that stupid car.

Kenny Maples had tried to put the make on her several times and she'd shot him down on a regular basis. It was a wonder that his last marriage had lasted as long as it did. She wondered if he'd come after her again. He seemed to be the kind of guy that took 'No' as 'Just Try Harder'. His marriages had never slowed him down. The guy was a dog. She shook herself to get rid of the thought and aimed the car through the steamy streets.

_Men! _She thought with not a little anger as she steered the black behemoth toward the other side of town. The heat, humidity and the errand were making her more than a little cranky.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the lot of a new but unpretentious office building. The parking was underground. Her last earthquake experience hadn't faded from memory yet. It hadn't caused any real damage but it scared the crap out of her and most of the other residents of the Sacramento area.

She'd actually prefer to park in the open, lest the building decide to pancake down during the next 7.0.

_Oh well, have to live with it. _Just part of the 'sun tax' for living in the land of milk and freeways. At least it would be cooler when she got back into the SUV.

Whatever dumb-ass in purchasing had requisitioned this vehicle obviously hadn't spent a summer in California. She hoped whoever it was got a damned good deal on the friggin' thing she thought as she parked in the first available spot, shut off the engine and peeled herself off the seat.

An entire herd of cows probably had to give their lives to make those stupid leather seats! It was California for crissakes! It was fucking summer! She felt the sweat that had gathered on her skin begin to evaporate as the breeze that, thankfully, blew through the open ends of the parking structure cooled her.

...

The office was nice enough . . . and cool. She checked in with the receptionist, an older woman with short salt and pepper hair.

"May I help you?" she said in a pleasant contralto.

"I have an appointment with Doctor O'Bannon at eleven."

The woman's black eyebrows and even blacker eyes gave her an odd intensity though it clashed with the otherwise 'motherly' vibe she gave off.

"Your name, dear?"

"Lisbon, Teresa Lisbon."

"Year of birth?" the woman asked as she tapped with short pink polished nails on her keyboard to pull up today's appointment log and began to scroll downward through the list.

"Oh, I'm not the patient. I'm here regarding a friend." said Lisbon not without some discomfort. _I wonder how many times she's heard that?_

"Oh, OK then," said the receptionist without missing a beat. "Would you mind starting to fill out these forms . . . for your friend? Dr. O'Bannon is just finishing up with his ten o'clock. Shouldn't be long dear." She was probably a good choice of receptionist for the office of a shrink.

_At least it isn't some little blonde, eighteen year-old, airhead . . . I've gotta stop this!. . . Must be the heat . . . _thought Agent Teresa Lisbon.

She took a seat on one of the comfy upholstered chairs and looked down at the forms on the clipboard she'd been handed. _They surely don't want my information. I'll just start with Jane's . . . _

Still unsure, she settled for writing her name in brackets above the patient's name slot just in case it might cause billing issues. She filled in the basics she knew: Name, D.O.B., etc. She quickly ran out of things she could fill in. She realized that she really didn't know much about the man, her friend, other than what she'd read in his file. Even though she'd known him for several years; she knew only the basics of his life and the tragedy that overshadowed it. How could that be?

She didn't have long to muse on it as a slightly raspy male voice called her by her first name from a door that had opened on the other side of the small waiting room.

She looked up to see a short, stocky, ginger-haired man. He smiled brightly and his eyes crinkled at the corners in a pleasant way. She could see that his eyes were a startling blue.

"Come this way Teresa" he smiled as he lead her down a long hallway to an open door on the right.

The office was pleasant without being 'shrinky'. The only real concession to warm and fuzzy was a desktop fountain that bubbled soothingly on the corner of his small desk. There was no couch. Actually, there was no room for one. Most of the space was taken up by the desk, the two chairs in front of it and the bookcases that lined the small room.

He looked down at the forms she'd handed him as she sat in one of the aqua colored chairs that matched those in the waiting room. His eyebrows rose slightly as he read before he looked up to her face.

"I see you're here for someone else?" he said; half statement, half question.

"Yes, a friend, a colleague actually."

"Why doesn't this friend," he looked down at the form again, "Patrick Jane, come in himself?"

"It's a long story but, I think I've convinced him to come in now."

The bright blue eyes looked at her appraisingly but, not unkindly, across the desk.

"You are a good friend, Teresa." he said after another moment, "Tell me about Patrick and how we can help him."

...

"I can't believe you blackmailed me into this!" hissed the consultant; not without a little anger in his normally controlled voice.

"Come on, Jane. You'd have done the same thing and worse if you had to." she answered evenly and, she thought, patiently, for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, well. I only use my powers for good." he defended

"Knock it off Obi-Wan; and heaven help us if you didn't." she said rolling her eyes but smiling.

They sat in the waiting room with the aqua chairs and the soft, indirect lighting. Jane popped out of his seat for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. Wandering to the magazine rack on the wall, getting a cup of water from the cooler in the corner, looking out the blinds to the roof of the building next door. She'd never seen him this nervous, (other than the odd times he'd been confronted by someone with a gun that he'd somehow managed to piss-off).

Jane was all glib, sunny, cheerfulness; sometimes in inappropriate venues such as murder scenes. If his team didn't know his little quirks and idiosyncrasies by now, they wouldn't even have guessed that he hadn't gotten back to his old self.

The big tip-offs, of course, were the panic attacks that lead all the way to actually passing out; first in the hallway after coming back from the Mulhulland house and then again in Lisbon's office two days ago. She was sure he would've tanked in the restaurant as well if he hadn't run out of there as if his tail was on fire.

Jane, himself, had now come to the conclusion that the jig was up. Unless he agreed to seek counseling: no more CBI, no more couch, no more Lisbon and the rest of the team. It had been spelled out for him in easy to understand terminology: Get help or get lost.

He needed the job. He needed them. Not just for access to information that would lead him to Red John. He'd come to the startling conclusion that they were his friends. Besides, he had no one or nothing else. _How pathetic is that_?

"Patrick?" came the raspy voice from the doorway and he stood and walked forward as though going to his own execution.

_Actually, this shouldn't be too hard, _thought the blonde man. He was very well trained in the art of bullshit.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC - dammit


	19. Chapter 19

Blood Music - Chapter 19

**Here's another. Thank you for the reviews and alerts. I really do read them and reply. This chapter is somewhat shorter and not much happens but it sets it up for some emotional turmoil in the next one, (not my forte' but not much is unless you count eating.) If you'd be so kind, please let me know what you think of this chapter.**

**Don't know anything about psychiatry, don't bust me for mistakes. I'm already depressed.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, I'm going to go drown myself in a tub of rocky road now, (nature's Prozac).**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

He took his seat infront of the desk. He knew that he shouldn't be this nervous. Well, maybe he should . . . couldn't tell yet.

Dr. O'Bannon sat smiling behind his unassuming desk, bright blue eyes evaluating the man who sat on the other side of it.

"So, Patrick, may I call you Patrick?" he said in a voice that had probably experienced one too many cigarettes; that or the man gargled with bleach.

Jane only looked calmly back at him; nodding slightly that it was OK. Other than that, he remained silent, his own gaze evaluating the stocky little man whose plastic nameplate on his desk read: Thomas C. O'Bannon, MD, DLFAPA.

They sat in quiet for a few more moments. O'Bannon could already tell that Patrick Jane would be a challenge, even without Agent Lisbon's warning about her friend's reluctance to seek help and his cleverness at not dealing with that which he would rather avoid.

The blonde man sat calmly in the aqua chair. His posture relaxed and open. His clear eyes inquisitive in their usual penetrating way.

"So, Patrick", O'Bannon began again, "Tell me why you're here?"

"That's a little esoteric isn't it? Why are any of us here?" said Jane without evidence of humor in either voice or face.

"Would you like to try that again?" asked the little man. "If you prefer, we could just sit here and stare silently at each other for the next, (he looked at the black, plastic timer that sat near his pen-set), forty-seven minutes."

Jane only looked at him with an amused expression. This guy was going to be a little tougher than he'd expected. Oh well, he loved a challenge.

"I'm sure Teresa Lisbon has already told you why I'm here. Technically I'm here so that I can continue working for the CBI. There wasn't much choice in the matter." said the blonde man evenly.

"Do you like your work?" asked O'Bannon just as evenly

"Sometimes." was the only answer

"Could you elaborate?"

Jane took a deep breath. OK, this wasn't so hard. He could tell the guy what was good or bad about being a consultant for the California Bureau of Investigation.

"The good? Catching bad guys, righting wrongs, the usual superhero stuff."

"And the bad?"

"Seeing what evil things people can do to each other."

"Does that bother you?"

"You mean does seeing bodies that have been stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, whatever; floating in a river or a pool of their own blood bother me? Should it?"

"I asked the question first." said O'Bannon not without some amusement in his expression.

Jane suddenly reached across the desk to turn the timer around. _Forty-three minutes to go, shit._

"Patrick, you can cooperate and be truthful or you can continue to obfuscate . . . "

"Ooh, expensive word; obfuscate." interrupted Jane

"I'm sure you know what it means. You're a very intelligent man."

"Thank you." said Jane modestly

"To get back on track, you know you're here to fulfill an obligation to Agent Lisbon and to the CBI. She brought you to me because she and your coworkers are worried about you. I am an expert on sexual trauma. I can help you but you have to want me to."

Jane only nodded as though he was listening to the chatter of an annoying child.

The stocky little man continued, "You're very aware of the results of your abduction. I understand that you've had panic attacks and have actually fainted a couple of times. Is that right?"

_OK, now the guy was getting on his nerves. _

"Is that what Lisbon told you?" he said without any inflection in his voice. He wasn't going to fall for it.

"As I said, I asked first." said O'Bannon without any trace of annoyance.

Jane only smiled his sunny smile . . . and said nothing.

"You know that I get paid either way. You can cooperate or you can waste your time and mine. I know that I hold most of the cards at this moment. For you to continue working for the CBI, Patrick, I have to sign off on the psych report. For me to do that, you have to talk to me."

_So, he wants to play hard-ball, huh? _thought Jane, a little bit of a knot beginning to form in his stomach.

The fountain on the desk burbled soothingly in the silence that followed. The ginger haired shrink assumed that Jane was thinking over what he'd just said. The man was very good at schooling his face and body to not give anything away. Lisbon had said that he'd once been a performer of sorts and that he had many skills he would use to keep from doing anything he didn't want to or giving anyone information that could be used to manipulate him or get by his defenses.

After several more minutes, Jane finally broke the silence.

"OK, Dr. Feelgood, I'll tell you whatever it takes to get me the fuck out of here." said Jane, still in a calm controlled voice but making it sound all the more like a challenge.

The stocky man was surprised at Jane's relatively quick capitulation, asking "Do you mean you're actually going to tell me the truth or just bull-shit your way through the process?"

"Thomas, it's for you to determine if it is, indeed, bull-shit. May I call you Thomas? How long have you been doing this?" asked Jane equably, not waiting for the man's acquiescence regarding the use of his given name.

"Long enough, Patrick. I'm good at what I do. I've heard that you are also."

"Did Lisbon say that?" smiled the blonde man.

"Among many other things."

"I'm sure."

"So, you haven't actually answered me . . . bullshit or the truth?"

"I'll get back to you on that." said Jane coolly

"You're call, as I said, I get paid either way." said O'Bannon without any trace of annoyance.

Jane suddenly stood in his graceful way and began to look through the collection of books on the shelves that lined the room. There were the usual texts that one would expect of someone in the psychiatric field. There were also several books of literature, poetry and art. Jane picked one up, strangely it was Blake's _'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'_. He was delighted but a little disturbed to find it here. He sat back down and began to read it, totally ignoring the man on the opposite side of the unpretentious desk with the cheap pen set and the portable fountain.

The only sounds in the room were the fountain, Jane's turning of the pages and an occasional '_hmm'_ or '_ah'_ as he read the text and perused the color plates of etched illustrations. They sat that way until the timer beeped discretely that their fifty minutes was up.

"Nice talking to you." said Jane standing to put the book back on the shelf and turning to walk out.

"'Till next time, then." said O'Bannon as the blonde man reached to open the door, his hand resting on the handle for just a moment.

Jane only turned to look at him and nodded with a small smile, then he was gone.

_This wasn't going to be easy,_ thought Thomas O'Bannon, _not easy at all._

_..._

The ride back to HQ was as silent as his meeting with the good Dr.O'Bannon. Jane appeared to be lost in thought as he rolled down the window and let the warm humid air flow through the SUV even though Lisbon had the air-conditioning on full blast. She opened her mouth to say something about the lack of responsible 'green' thinking but, let it go. _What's a few more polar bears?_

She didn't ask any questions about what had gone on in the shrink's office. It wasn't really her business except in the most general sense. Jane hadn't been forthcoming with any information so she let it lay.

The humidity was having its way with her consultant's hair. The blowing air and the dampness caused it to curl even more than usual and totally ignore any requested direction. By the time they got back to the office, he looked like a feral poodle.

...

Today was Monday. His next appointment was Thursday. The contest had begun.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC - (Of course I have to continue this, it's like Godzilla - the damned thing won't die!)


	20. Chapter 20

Blood Music - Chapter 20

**Surprise! Now that I'm not two-timing you nice people by working on another story at the same time, this chapter was completed sooner than my usual pokey updates. It may actually come to a conclusion in maybe two more chapters, (I've been wrong with that prediction in the past). Please, please review, even if it's only a brief comment, then I can give that infamous Sally Field's Oscar speech . . . or not.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, will never be . . . well, perhaps in the next life . . . if I'm really, really good about recycling.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Relentless

The second and third sessions went much like the first - a little sparring, a little silence then Jane would shut it all out and immerse himself in a book selected from one of the shelves.

This time, he chose a book on Renaissance art.

O'Bannon watched the blonde man, at first, deliberately ignore him and then become so engrossed in the ornate fantasies of long dead artists that he seemed in another world.

Agent Lisbon had mentioned that she suspected he had ADD which sometimes made working with him a challenge to say the least. She'd said she has a brother who exhibited some of the same behavior. The hyper-focus of the blonde man poring over the book would fit that diagnosis but it could also fit several others. It was something to consider down the road.

Amused, in spite of the apparent dis, the doctor watched his patient's face reflect the delight he found in the slick color pages of the large book opened on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Everything else was now forgotten as he lost himself in the beautiful color plates on nearly every page.

The afternoon sunlight sliced into regimented lengths of bright bands as it slanted in through the half opened blinds. It striped the carpet and the man sitting upon it in golden slashes of light.

They'd not made much progress in the previous sessions and it didn't look like this one was going to ruin their record. The timer counted down the minutes until Jane would put the book back on the shelf, quietly bid his goodbye and slip out the door.

O'Bannon hadn't really pushed him yet. He was still waiting for the right moment, some little chink in the armor he could squeeze his way through. So far, the blonde man had given him no such opening. He'd either answered questions with other questions or short, dry answers that revealed nothing or very little of the man who spoke them.

This was quite a challenge and O'Bannon wasn't giving up yet. The man obviously needed to come to terms with what had happened to him and get beyond it. From what Lisbon had told him, and from what he'd read in the file she brought with her, her friend's life had encompassed more tragedy than most people would even survive. The fact that he remained functional was a testament to his strength but, they had a lot of work to do.

The stocky little doctor had become lost in his own musings when he heard Jane's intake of breath followed by the sound of the book slamming shut. He looked at the man on the floor and caught his eyes for a brief moment; a nanosecond. They were haunted. He quickly shut it off; his face, once more, becoming completely unreadable and rose gracefully from the floor to place the book back on the shelf.

"Patrick? Is something wrong?" asked O'Bannon quietly

"Just bored." said Jane smiling his sunny smile as he brushed imaginary dust off his hands and reached across the desk for the timer. They still had twenty minutes.

"Can I please see the book you were reading?" asked the man behind the desk.

"Sure" answered Jane, his face merely curious as he reached upward to take the heavy volume down and place it on O'Bannon's desk.

The doctor set the spine of the heavy book on the blotter and let the pages fall open. He'd learned this as a kid. The last page read, should be the one the book naturally opened to. He gave it a go.

It fell open to reveal a painting with a blood red background on which were florid depictions of swirling cherubs. He studied it for a moment and looked up at Jane, who was now trying to look anywhere but at the doctor.

"Did this picture bother you?" he asked spinning the book on his desk so that Jane could see it.

"Why would it bother me?" said Jane in a flat voice. A little too flat.

"I'm asking you. Did the picture bring something to mind? I heard you make a sound and then close the book suddenly. What was it?"

He picked up the large book, came from behind the desk and with the book still open to the cherubs, handed it to Jane.

"Is this the picture that bothered you?" he asked quietly

"It's a picture of cherubs, weren't they the favored depiction of innocence in the sixteenth century? There certainly were enough paintings of them."

"What do they mean to you?"

"Just what I told you, nothing more." snapped Jane, his face closed and set in stone.

"I think they mean something more to you. What is it?" pressed the doctor.

"I told you what they mean. Why do you keep asking the same question?" said the consultant, a slight blush of anger coloring his cheeks, "Frankly, it's tedious and irksome."

"Patrick, you have to confront this. The picture got a reaction from you when nothing in the last three sessions has even made a dent."

"It's time to go" said Jane, standing quickly and taking a step toward the door.

"We still have eighteen minutes . . . see?" said the doctor holding up the black plastic timer for Jane to read the digital display.

"Why don't we just cut this one a little short. I have to get back to the office."

"No, you don't, Patrick. I know you're not expected to return today. I'd spoken earlier to Agent Lisbon, she told me you have the rest of the day off."

"Why would you be speaking to Lisbon?" demanded Jane, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"She's worried about you and wanted to ask if we'd made any progress. She said you just blow her off when she asks anything about it. She didn't want any details. She wanted to make sure you were actually showing up for your appointments. You know I'm not allowed divulge whatever comes out at these sessions. Whatever you've said, _or_ _haven't said_, he thought, will go no farther than this room."

Jane just stood staring at him stone faced; his breathing seemed a little faster than it had been before. It was the only indication that anything was amiss.

"We have to talk Patrick. _You_ have to talk. I can't possibly sign off on you if you don't make some effort to communicate." He hesitated slightly before continuing, "I understand you'd spent some time in the hospital after the murders of your family. From what I've been able to conclude, even without your cooperation, you're going to wind up there again. It's only a matter of time."

The last brutally blunt statement seemed to have an effect on the here-to-fore impenetrable facade. The clear eyes seemed to bore a hole in the little man.

"Patrick, tell me, what did that picture mean to you?"

"Fuck off"

"You know I can't approve of your continuing to do this kind of work. I honestly don't know how you've managed to hold it together as well as you've done for the last month and a half. I'm not exaggerating Patrick, you are destined to go back to the hospital if you don't let some of this go. If you don't share what went on when you were taken. I also think this goes much deeper than just that one incident. You have a lot of work to do before I can even remotely consider keeping you out there."

"So that's a threat?" said the blonde man quietly, forcefully . . . dangerously.

"No, it's a reality. You have to deal with it."

Jane only stood looking at him, his eyes now cold and flat.

The stocky little, ginger-haired doctor wasn't intimidated . . . or at least didn't show it.

"So, what does the picture mean?"

"I told you, dammit! Nothing!" said Jane, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he struggled for control.

"Of course it means something, look at you. You're breathing way too fast, you're pale, your sweating. If I'm not mistaken, you're starting to feel a little shaky right now, maybe nauseous."

Jane said nothing, he stayed rooted to the spot and looked down at the book in his hands with its depiction of chubby, winged, figures on the blood-red background. He couldn't look away.

He could feel the blood pounding in his head; hear the rush of it in his ears. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing; concentrating on slowing it down, controlling his body as he'd always been able to. His skin was beginning the familiar tingling and the dizziness was starting. He let the book go and heard it hit the floor.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and jerked away from it as though burned.

"Don't!" he said too loudly, too desperately, backing away as far as he could in the cramped space.

"It's OK Patrick, I just didn't want you to fall. Sit down OK? I'll get you some water. Just breath slowly, it will get better."

This time, Jane actually listened and lowered himself shakily into the chair. He closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing.

He didn't hear the doctor pour a glass of water from the pitcher he kept on the small cabinet behind his desk.

"Patrick?" said O'Bannon, watching Jane carefully to see if he was still going to actually keel over. "Here, drink this. It will help."

Jane took the glass in both shaking hands and managed to swallow some without spilling it. There was actually a clicking sound as his teeth chattered on its rim. He could still feel his heart pounding and the room wasn't quite as still as it was a couple of minutes ago. His stomach was protesting the imaginary movement. He'd be damned if he'd lose it, in front of the man who's evaluation meant survival or doom. He couldn't. He was not giving anyone that much control.

"What does the picture mean?"

_The man was fucking relentless._

...

When the shaking had stopped and the room was, once again, standing still, he opened his eyes and stared searchingly at the doctor who'd re-seated himself behind his desk.

"There were some cherubs on red wallpaper." he said quietly

"Where was this wallpaper?" asked O'Bannon, fighting the urge to whisper the question, not wanting to break whatever spell had come over the plainly exhausted man in the chair.

Jane carefully set the empty glass on the corner of the small desk. His hands were still shaking but, seemed to be getting steadier by the moment. His breathing had slowed to something approaching normal.

"It was on the walls of the bedroom where I was held." he answered, almost inaudibly.

O'Bannon waited a few moments to see if Jane was going to part with something more but, the man only sat slumped quietly in the aqua chair.

"What do you remember about that situation, Patrick?"

"I remember . . . some music . . . Edith Piaf, I think. I remember the smell of flowers . . . roses."

"What else?"

"She was touching me." he answered in nearly a whisper; voice beginning to tremble slightly.

O'Bannon didn't dare make a sound. He almost didn't breath.

Jane had once again become mute as he sat staring at the sunlight striped pattern on the carpet for several minutes.

"I told her to stop but she wouldn't."

"Where did she touch you?"

"All over, at first." he shuddered as he remembered the feel of her hands in his hair, on his face, sliding lower.

"Were you still tied?"

"Yes"

"What else do you remember about that time?" O'Bannon prompted.

"Pillows, lots of stupid little pillows . . . on the bed."

If the situation were not so serious, the little man would have smiled. Patrick Jane was, obviously, someone who'd notice a detail like that.

"What happened then, Patrick?"

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You're stronger than you think. You're a survivor."

"I promised!" he suddenly blurted out, his voice loud and raw; his face twisting in pain.

"What did you promise?" asked O'Bannon, leaning forward, almost wanting to comfort the now completely distraught man in front of him. He couldn't touch him. Right now, no one could.

"I promised her." said Jane, tears beginning to flow silently from his haunted, grey-green eyes.

"Who, Patrick? To whom did you make a promise?"

"Angie, I promised Angela!" he choked

O'Bannon gave a little bit of a start, unnoticed by Jane who'd now closed his eyes tightly as his mind went back to the time spent with his captor. The doctor remembered that Jane's wife's name had been Angela. _This is a little disturbing._

"What did you promise your wife?"

"I promised her I wouldn't let anyone touch me that way until she said it was OK."

O'Bannon thought for another moment as the fountain burbled blithely on in the small office.

"Do you talk to Angela?" he asked carefully

"Yes, all the time."

"Can you see her when you talk to her?" asked O'Bannon nearly holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

"Sometimes, when it's dark and I'm alone."

O'Bannon made a note on the pad in front of him.

"Patrick? he said softly, "Do you know that Angela is dead?"

"How could I not!." Jane nearly screamed, jumping up from the chair, angry eyes fastened on the doctor who, unconsciously, drew back from the sudden loud reaction.

"There was blood everywhere! On the walls . . . on the floor . . . gallons of it! Rivers of it! . . . and she was so still. She and Charlotte were so still." the blonde man whimpered, "They didn't answer me . . . they couldn't answer me . . . "

Sliding out of the chair, he collapsed sobbing onto his knees and began to rock back and forth in the self-soothing motion of small children, his hands over his face, curling himself tighter as though it would protect him from the memory. Protect him from what had, once, very nearly, completely and totally destroyed him.

O'Bannon sat with him quietly, letting him cry until there were no more tears, just shuddering intakes of breath.

This poor man has a lot to deal with. He knew that there was nothing that could ever take away the horror, the unimaginable pain. He hoped it won't be too much for this very badly damaged creature. He hoped that whatever strength of will had served him in the past, could sustain him now.

The sunlight's pattern on the carpet shifted from the floor to the wall as the flaming orb sank lower in the sky. The little fountain burbled in the silence.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC - can't weasle out of it now!


	21. Chapter 21

Blood Music - Chapter 21

**OK, two more chapters but, that's my final offer . . . I think. This one gives more information on the shrink and sets it up for the next chapter. (MeltedChocoButton, I think I've failed you). Thank you for your reviews, comments and favorites. Let me know what you think of this one. I think some of you may have wandered away . . . I can relate.**

**Disclaimer: Still - Not - Mine! Still - No - Money! (Yes, still sucks!)**

**Mistakes: The only things that are all mine.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Change of Weather, Change of Scene

The month had passed quickly. The weather was turning seasonably cooler and drier. Summer was over and, for the most part, the muggy months of early fall as well.

O'Bannon sat waiting in his small office, thinking that he was very glad he wouldn't have to get up an hour early to dig his car out of snow before coming to work this winter. Denver had been nice but, considering the aches in his nearly sixty-year old bones, Sacramento was much more comfortable in, so called 'cold weather'.

Denver had, eventually, become overrun with ghosts; the specters of the sad, tragic tales to which he'd been privy as part of his chosen profession. Tales of women, children and men whose lives and bodies were damaged by the monsters who took what wasn't theirs and left wreckage in its place. He'd been at it long enough to know he couldn't afford to get caught up in other people's unhappiness. It wasn't good for him and it certainly wasn't helpful to his patients. He knew better.

Eventually, the dreary winters and the phantoms had finally taken their toll. He'd gotten his wife's agreement to move to a new state, (a warmer one), and found a position almost immediately after being certified for practice in California.

Things had gone well here for quite a while. He'd managed to maintain the professional distance - until now. This case, Patrick Jane to be exact, haunted him more than many others.

Here was someone who had all the potential in the world but, through accident of birth had been destined to a life that didn't value the gift; the intelligent, perceptive child who'd grown into the man who couldn't bear to be touched.

They'd made progress in the previous weeks . . . though slowly. Working with someone who had many methods of defense, honed over years that, for the most part, had been _unkind_, (for lack of a better adjective), was not easy. It was slow going.

The little doctor's reverie was broken by a discrete knock on the door. He'd begun letting his receptionist, Joanie, usher in the patients with whom he was familiar. He knew he was losing even what little exercise the short walk down the hall to the waiting room provided. He was growing rounder with each passing year and would have to do something about it . . . soon. He was now on the last hole punched in his belt and the leather strap was beginning to feel tight. His wife was worried about his health. He'd given up the cigarettes for her, he supposed he could give up the ice cream too . . . life was not easy sometimes.

Patrick Jane entered the room with his usual sunny smile. He'd come to trust the doctor, (well, as much as he trusted anyone, old behaviors were hard to unlearn).

"Hey Thomas" greeted Jane brightly as he plopped himself into his usual chair; the one closest to the door.

"Patrick, how are you today?" smiled O'Bannon

"Good, everything's good." was the cheery response the doctor knew wasn't actually true. Agent Lisbon had called a couple of days ago to tell him her consultant, earlier that day, had exhibited the signs of a minor panic attack. The grateful mother of a missing child had hugged him to thank him for his help in finding her daughter before anything too dire had happened to the kid.

Teresa Lisbon, a very observant woman, said her consultant had covered it well but, she still saw his reaction to the physical contact. O'Bannon hoped that Patrick appreciated her. She was a very good friend to him and perhaps, in his observation, even a bit more. It was something to bring up in the future.

Jane rose momentarily to place the slim volume of poetry he'd brought with him, into its place on the shelf. O'Bannon had noted that it wasn't Blake this time . . . good. The book borrowing was part of the progress they'd made. Jane had agreed to take the books home to read instead of retreating to them during sessions. So far, he'd made his way through quite a selection.

"Anything in particular you'd like to talk about today?" asked the stocky little man; already knowing the type of answer he'd get.

"Have you seen that new movie that's out? The one about the ghosts in the old hospital? Very creepy. Won't win any Oscars but it gave me chills." smiled Jane, miming the feeling by drawing his shoulders up and wrapping his arms around himself.

"No, can't say I've even heard about it. In any case, my wife doesn't like scary movies. She says real life is scary enough." smiled the doctor who'd been married for nearly forty years to his high-school sweetheart.

"She's a smart woman." answered Jane with a smile in return.

O'Bannon was always amazed at that smile. It was like watching a brilliant burst of fireworks or the sun coming up on a cloudless day. Sadly, its light never reached the dark corners wherein lurked the demons.

"Patrick, I think today we should talk about finding the cause of your aversion to being touched."

"I though we already did that?" said the blonde man, his smile quickly fading as he took his seat once again. Rather than leaning back into the chair this time, he perched on the edge of the upholstered seat.

"We've established what brought the feeling back so strongly. Even though the woman who held you captive did nothing other than touch you . . . unwanted intimate contact itself is traumatic enough . . . it triggered something that was already there. We have to find out what that was."

"Why can't we just leave it alone? I've managed to make it this far without knowing, I'm sure I could die happily without bringing up the memory."

"Can you be touched now? Is it OK?" asked O'Bannon bluntly his bright blue eyes searching his patient's face.

"No, not really." murmured Jane looking downward; not willing to meet his doctor's very direct stare.

"What happened to you at that house was just what pulled the trigger, Patrick. The gun was already loaded."

Jane had no answer this time; an unusual occurrence for one so glib. O'Bannon gave him time to process.

"You already knew my childhood wasn't spent growing up in 'Opieville'. There was no Aunt Bea baking cookies while I was at school" then he added with a dismissive wave of a slender hand, "Actually, there _was_ no school."

"I'm aware of that. You're life was far, far from ideal but, something or a series of somethings brought about this reluctance to being touched. You said it made you angry when people put hands on you without your permission or without your expecting it. It's not that unusual that it makes you flinch a little. We all have our personal space that others shouldn't invade unasked but, your 'fight or flight' instinct is always in high gear. You, my friend, don't do anything halfway." O'Bannon once more smiled but this time,sadly, ironically.

"Since none of the monsters you've managed to dredge out of my psyche, so far, seem to be directly connected with this . . . issue and, I'm running out of material for this freak show, how do you propose this is going to come about? You're absolutely sure it's even necessary?"

"I know it's painful but you lived through it the first time. Memory isn't a physical reality."

"I thought we'd also addressed that issue . . . physical reality."

"Yes, Patrick, we've established to an_ almost_ comfortable degree that you aren't actually hallucinating during your conversations with Angela. It's only a tool of a very, very strong imagination and a way for someone of your 'intensity' to deal with strong emotion but, to answer the question . . . you still have work to do . . . lots of it and, I'm afraid, it won't be easy. You may feel a lot worse before you feel better."

"No meds then?" asked Jane, an unsure look on his drawn yet handsome face. "You said you hadn't decided yet if you're going to prescribe them or not."

"I'm still not entirely sure." answered O'Bannon as honestly as he could; _the man certainly deserves honesty _"I think you'll, eventually, be able to control the panic attacks or eliminate them entirely. The only medication you should be taking is the one that helps you sleep. Perhaps, in the future, even that one won't be required."

O'Bannon looked down at a manilla folder in front of him, quickly scanning it again. "The medical records you authorized me to obtain show that you were given quite the assortment of whatever the miracles of modern medicine had available at the time. There are some new ones we could try but, I think we should first try to get through this without resorting to a pharmaceutical regimen.

"I always like the way you guys use the term 'we', as though you're going to take a hit of whatever you've prescribed along with me." said Jane only half jokingly.

O'Bannon could see his patient's body relax slightly when he realized he wouldn't be required to take medication.

He and Jane had quite an informative discussion on body language and peoples' _'tells_' as the former faux psychic called them. They'd shared information that would probably come in handy to both of them; in the psychiatric world as well as law enforcement. It wasn't a wasted afternoon.

"How do you propose we go about this . . . search?" asked Jane without bothering to hide his trepidation.

"I'd like to try hypnosis." answered O'Bannon watching for his patient's reaction to the idea. He'd already predicted in his mind what it would be.

"You've got to be kidding!" snorted Jane

"Why is that, Patrick?"

"I've used that technique myself. I'm pretty damned good at it. I'm not someone who can be hypnotized. As you've said yourself, I'm very 'self-aware' and 'defensive' in your very professional words. I know I'm an extremely poor candidate for hypnosis. I don't have to have it validated by a very expensive shrink."

"I'm not that expensive." smiled O'Bannon.

Jane only gave a dismissive huff and a slight smile.

"We're going to try it with drugs in addition to the usual way" said O'Bannon, still keenly observing his patient.

"I doubt that will work." said Jane, adding a roll of his eyes this time.

"With your permission, I'd like to try it Patrick."

Jane hesitated. His trust wasn't complete. Not necessarily his trust in Dr. Thomas C. O'Bannon but, in his own ability to come back from whatever horror might be excavated from his past. He wasn't as resilient as he used to be. He was tired.

After a considerable pause, Jane said "Well, OK. I'll have to trust you're not out to drive me completely over the edge and just lock me up for the convenience.

"Patrick, I'm actually very happy that you trusted me enough to take you this far. You've made great progress in the last month."

The ginger-haired man leaned back in his chair with a smile, "Besides, you know you're worth more to me out and about. If I locked you away, there would go a good chunk of my current income."

"I'm sure there's no lack of the 'pathetically fucked-up' on which you can apply your skills." smiled Jane, "But", . .. his smile waned, "before I completely sign off on this, I'd like to speak with someone first."

"Of course, perhaps we can do this next Thursday. Will that give you enough time?" asked O'Bannon, holding his breath that Jane wouldn't back out of what could shed much needed light on the cause of the still unresolved issue.

"Should be." he nodded, then with a small, bleak smile said, "Well . . . in for a penny, in for a pound, I guess."

O'Bannon nodded silently back in confirmation, relieved that Jane had agreed to it.

"So, Thomas . . . have you seen the latest 'Harry Potter' movie?"

...

It was dark and quiet in the attic. He hadn't bothered to turn the light on and the last of the sunlight had long faded. Through the grimy window, he could see the velvet sky with its tiny dots of light sprinked on it like cosmic glitter.

He had to talk to her. He needed reassurance that he wasn't alone; that if he became lost in the nightmare of his memories she would be there to help find the way back. He was frightened. He wasn't sure he would come back. Last time, it had gotten him a locked room. He wouldn't survive if it happened again. He waited for her to come to him.

...

TBC - OK, you guys know that something baaad is coming.


	22. Chapter 22

Blood Music - Chapter Twenty Two

**OK you guys, here's another. I couldn't proof this from a hard copy as I like to. So, don't shoot me for any typos, or missing words, (most common). My brain goes faster than my fingers but, enough excuses . . . just don't shoot me, 'kay? Also, I.V. cath scene is the cliff notes version, don't bust me for that either.**

**Thank you for your reviews and comments and favorites. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Next chapter up in a few days. Hope I didn't disappoint you and that I lived up to the hype.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them or make any money off this damned thing. Life is hard sometimes; fortunately, not that hard, I'm sitting here with a hot-fudge sundae.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Under the Influence

He heard the door slide open and the soft footfalls. She was silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway.

"Jane?"

"Yeah, over here." he called to her softly.

"Where's the damned lights?" she asked in irritation as she slid the door shut.

"Don't need 'em. I think we've been here before."

"Yeah, well, if I trip over something and break my neck, I'm haunting you for the rest of your life, buster."

"I won't let you fall."

"Is this another one of those stupid 'trust' exercises?"

"Yes, sort of, I suppose."

"Jane, stop being so mysterious. What's going on? Why did you ask me to come up here?"

"I need to ask you a question . . . Teresa."

She knew that when he used her given name, something was going on; something serious.

Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she walked across the floor toward the faint light that weakly spilled through the window on the other side of the room. She could see it reflect off his hair as he stood looking out toward the darkness.

"Let's go outside." he said and opened the door to the roof. He stepped out onto its tarpaper surface and looked up at the sky. There was no moon tonight. The haze had dissipated and the stars were visible again.

She moved quietly to stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.

"Teresa . . . do you think I'm . . . crazy?"

She was astonished by the question. She'd accused him of being crazy many times in the heat of argument but did she think he was really nuts? Well, he could do some crazy things sometimes that no one understood until after the fact . . . he was a little eccentric maybe but, she wouldn't call him crazy. She could also sense the question and, possibly more importantly, the answer was of serious concern to him.

"No, I don't think you're crazy. Why do you ask?"

Without bothering to answer, he said, "Teresa, could you . . . would you come with me to my appointment on Thursday?"

Another surprise. After the first meeting, (to which she'd driven him), he never wanted her anywhere near the doctor's office and never talked about his meetings with Dr. O'Bannon. She certainly wouldn't ask him any details. She finally called O'Bannon herself to make sure Jane was actually showing up for his sessions.

"Of course, I will if you want me to." she said, "Why do you want me to go with you this time? You've never wanted me anywhere near the shrink's office after that first time."

"I . . . need you . . . to make sure nothing happens."

"Jane, what's going to happen? We're going to be in the doctor's office, aren't we?"

"Yes, but . . . O'Bannon wants to hypnotize me."

She almost laughed. A hypnotist hypnotizing another hypnotist. This was going to be really interesting. Suddenly, she realized this must be something incredibly difficult for him if he wants her to be there.

He said nothing else as he stood with hands in his jacket pockets and looking upward.

"Why?" she finally asked.

"He thinks the reason I . . . I have the panic attacks has something to do with my past. It's the reason I don't really . . . want anyone touching me."

Even though they'd talked around it in a very general sense, and she'd even initiated and witnessed his distress, they'd never had an actual discussion about 'it'; this fear of being touched. The demonstration that had finally gotten him to see that he had to do something about it, (well, that and the threat of being canned from the CBI), was the last time it had been mentioned by either one of them.

"Were you always this way?"

"Sort of."

"I know you're not the 'huggy' type but, a lot of people aren't. Did what happened with that crazy woman bring this on?"

"It only made it worse. I've never liked anyone touching me if I didn't expect it or initiate it. I could always deal with it before. I don't seem to be able to do that very well now."

"Are you worried something will happen when you're under? I didn't think you could be hypnotized. Didn't you tell me that once?"

"This may not work. It wouldn't normally but, O'Bannon wants to try it with some sort of drug or drugs. He thinks if he can get me relaxed enough with the medication he's planning on giving me, I'll be able to go under and remember . . . things. Whatever it was that might have started this touch issue."

"Makes sense."

"I don't think I can do this."

"Why, what are you worried about?"

"I don't want to go back to the hospital. I wouldn't survive it this time."

"You needed to be there last time. You're all better now. What makes you think you're going back?"

"O'Bannon told me that's where I'm headed if I don't resolve this."

"Is that why you're afraid? That you might go back to the hospital?"

"Yes . . . no . . . I'm afraid if I try to remember things that I've blocked out, probably for good reasons, I won't be able to come back from it." she could hear the catch in his voice. "That's when they'll, surely, put me back in there."

He stopped talking and looked at her, his eyes searching hers in the feeble light of the stars. She could see tears make glistening trails down his face.

"Teresa, 'afraid' isn't a strong enough word for this. I'm terrified."

She was astonished at his admission. Even though he sometimes feigned fright, she knew he was a brave man. Unorthodox sometimes but, brave.

"Patrick" she began, "I don't know if you remember it but, I've told you before. You're stronger than you think. You are far stronger than anyone I've ever met. You lived through what happened to you and your family. Remembering what started this will be bad but, whatever 'it' was; it's already happened; you've already survived it. I don't think Doctor O'Bannon would even suggest this if he thought you couldn't come through it OK. This doctor was pretty highly recommended and I did some checking on my own. He's good at what he does."

"Yeah, well, he has more faith in me than I do."

He looked directly into her eyes. He saw her concern and her sincerity . . . and her kindness.

"Teresa, I'm so fucking tired. You have no idea how tired I am of trying to keep it together. How many times I just wanted to give up and lie down and hope I would just disolve into the earth. How many times I've thought about pills or . . . taking a walk into the ocean . . . or. . . "

Even in the dimness, his eyes looked so lost, so sad, . . . so tired. She couldn't help herself.

"Can I hug you?" she asked "Would that be OK?"

He looked at her for a long moment, tears once more silently coursed down his face. "I'm sorry Teresa", he said so softly she almost couldn't hear it. "I don't think I can right now. I'm so sorry."

"Patrick, it's OK. We'll hug when this is all over. You'll get through it. I'll be here to help you; to make sure you come back."

Teresa Lisbon wasn't sure if she could make good on her promise. The thought of failing to do so terrified her. He was her best friend and, possibly, someday, maybe something more.

She silently prayed that he would get through this in one piece. She couldn't love him if he was crazy.

They stood looking out at the night. Side by side, under the velvet sky . . . not touching.

...

She could see him tightly gripping the steering wheel as they pulled into the underground parking garage. It wasn't as humid today, which was a very good thing as the A/C in Jane's car was on the fritz . . . again.

_At least he doesn't have leather seats in this deathtrap,_ thought Lisbon who'd only agreed to go with him in _his_ car because she didn't think an argument over it would help right now. He was, obviously, on edge already. She didn't want to add to it.

The found a space near the elevator and exited the little blue Citroen to walk toward the lift.

Jane, once again, had removed any trace of anxiety from his face. If she didn't already know about his fears, she would've never even suspected he was scared shitless. She wondered how much he'd been covering for how long. The thought saddened her all the more.

"Hi Joanie." greeted Jane with one of his patented smiles almost guaranteed to melt the hearts of receptionists everywhere.

Joanie was, apparently, no exception. She smiled brightly back, her black eyes sparkling as she smoothed an imaginary wisp of her thick salt and pepper hair.

"Patrick, you're on time as always. You've brought . . . " her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to bring up the petite agent's name from her memory, "Teresa!", she said triumphantly.

Lisbon was kind of surprised that the woman recalled her name. The other surprise was that Jane was on time, 'as always' apparently. _Why couldn't he show up for work that way? _She'd have to bring it up with him sometime . . . _No, never mind. Again, it would be like trying to reason with a friggin cat, a feral one . . . with ADD. Ain't gonna happen, _she thought, now even more annoyed.

Joanie rose from behind her desk to open the door and escort them down the hallway. Instead of turning right to O'Bannon's usual office, she ushered them into a room across from it.

_OK, this is just a little unfamiliar, _thought the consultant. _Nothing to worry about._

The walked into the room and saw that it did, indeed, have a couch. _OK, now, this is tweaking my nerves, _he thought as whatever was fluttering around in his stomach began to become even more kinetic.

"Doctor O will be with you in just a moment." smiled Joanie in her motherly way as she closed the door and left them alone together in the room.

They took their seats in familiar aqua colored chairs. Jane, very carefully, chose the one farthest from the couch and nearest to the door. There was no actual need for a pre-planned escape route but, one couldn't be too careful.

They sat quietly waiting for the little doctor, Jane idly drumming his fingers on the wooden arms of his chair.

_He doesn't often do such things,_ Lisbon knew he must be screaming from nervousness inside.

She looked over at him with a small smile she hoped would be encouraging. What she really wanted to do was to put her arms around him to reassure him that it would be alright and that she was there for him no matter what.

The door opened and the ginger haired doctor came in balancing a small metal tray on which sat two glass vials, syringes and some clear tubing along with a few other things.

Jane's gut tightened even further at the sight of the tray and the things that sat upon it.

"Patrick. Agent Lisbon." he smiled in greeting as he set the tray down on the small end table near the couch.

" Good to see you again, Agent . . . "

"Just call me Teresa" she smiled

"Teresa, I'm so glad you could be here with Patrick. He doesn't seem to trust that I won't drug him and sell his body for medical science." he said with a mischevious gleam in his blue eyes.

Jane smiled in return but had no rejoinder, thinking,_ If I'd known I was going to have to go through this, they could've had it long ago._

Lisbon noticed the apprehensive look her consultant gave the tray O'Bannon had just brought into the room. The blonde man looked as though he might launch himself toward the door. He sat on the very edge of the chair, hands resting on his knees.

"Patrick, why don't you take a seat on the couch. We'll get this started in a moment."

Jane stood up woodenly and sat the same way on the comfortable looking couch. It was upholstered in a pattern that combined the aqua color of the chairs with the beige of the carpeting: soothing colors, soothing pattern. Apparently not soothing enough. Jane still looked incredibly tense, as though he was going to bolt at any moment.

"You see, Patrick, if I was really one of those 'expensive' shrinks, I'd have a henchperson to start this. I'm afraid you'll have to put up with 'Tom the Bomb' as I was called in the last phlebotomy refresher class I took."

"Bomb as in good or bomb as in dismal failure?" asked Jane with only a small apprehensive smile as O'Bannon tore the wrapper off of one of the prep wipes and motioned for Jane to roll up his sleeve.

The blonde man took his time as he slowly unbuttoned his right cuff and just as slowly and carefully rolled it only as far as an inch or two below the crook of his arm.

O'Bannon knew he wouldn't roll it up any farther. He hadn't actually seen them himself but he'd seen the photos of the initial cuts and the subsequent scarring. It seems the hospital was very good at documenting what went on with their patients. The man was lucky to have landed in such a good facility. It was far better than any state hospital would have been . . . no matter which state.

He didn't know if Lisbon had already seen them or not but, he didn't want to stress his patient any more than he already suspected he was.

"You know, if you're waiting for this wipe to evaporate, I have more of them." smiled O'Bannon, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Agent Lisbon smile as well.

Jane looked up at him slightly startled but but said nothing. He wasn't even smiling now.

The doctor stood up and reaching behind the couch, rolled a small table about the size and configuration of a TV tray next to his patient. It was covered in a sterile white cloth and had on it a length of plastic tubing.

"Set your arm on the tray, Patrick, so we can get this done as quickly and, I might add, as painlessly as possible." said O'Bannon as he donned a strong looking pair of reading glasses.

Jane obediently lay his arm on the sterile pad that covered the table as O'Bannon slipped on a pair of gloves and peered closely at the inside of Jane's lightly tanned forearm. He took the plastic tubing and tied it around his patient's arm; cinching it tightly and waiting for the bluish veins to become more prominent.

"Ahah!" he exclaimed happily, making Lisbon jump at the sound of the exclamation. Her consultant wasn't the only one who was a little on edge. "There's a good one."

The doctor quickly and thoroughly scrubbed an area over the 'good' vein he'd spotted, waited a few seconds for it to dry and then deftly slipped in the needle, securing it with a several pieces of adhesive tape. He removed the band from his patient's arm and left the clear tubing of the attached I.V. catheter extension to dangle loosely.

Jane didn't even flinch. He looked up at the little doctor with a surprised smile.

"Tom the Bomb, indeed. I didn't even feel that."

"What? You didn't believe me?" said O'Bannon in feigned hurt.

Picking up a vial from the tray, he said, "Patrick, why don't you lie back and get comfortable, we'll start this in a few moments.

The blonde man lay back uneasily on the rough fabric of the couch. He wondered if this was what Victorians call a 'fainting couch'. One end of it was sloped gently upward so that a person could recline comfortably without the bother of pillows.

He watched the doctor insert the needle into the first of the two bottles, the one with the clear liquid. The little man carefully withdrew a few cc's and expertly flicked the syringe to get any air bubbles out. He pushed it into the port at the end of the catheter extension and slowly depressed the plunger.

Jane's heart was starting to speed up. He could feel it hammering in his chest as he watched the slow emptying of the syringe. Thoughts skittered wildly in his mind like a box of frightened mice. _Why do I feel like this is an execution?_

"It's OK, Patrick. Try to slow your breathing." said O'Bannon

"At least if I pass out" said Jane trying to concentrate on his task, "I'm already lying down."

"Jane, I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." spoke Lisbon with all the sincerity she could put into her voice. She so desperately wanted to at least pat him on the shoulder to lessen his anxiety, but she knew that just wasn't the right thing to do at this point.

He could feel some of the tension in his muscles beginning to ease. His breathing slowed as did his heart rate. He could usually control those things himself. He hadn't been able to in since his 'incident'. It had bothered him greatly to feel this out of control. To not be able to subdue the rush of adrenaline that flooded his body when it was least wanted.

"Patrick, I want you to close your eyes and listen to me. I'm injecting the second drug now. You're going to feel a cooling sensation in your veins. Just go with it. It's not unpleasant. Feel it in your arm then feel it traveling to your shoulder and then to your neck. Nice and cool. Can you feel it?"

"Yes, it's kind of cold." answered Jane sounding nowhere close to being relaxed enough to be put under.

"Thomas, I really don't think this is going to work." said his apprehensive patient.

"Just give it a chance. Let the drugs do their work. Just try to relax. I'm confident in this technique. I've used it before. It just takes a little while longer with some people."

Jane only snorted but remained still with his eyes closed as directed.

After another few moments, he began to shiver slightly.

"Are you cold Patrick?" asked O'Bannon.

"Yeah, this stuff really is cold. I can feel it. Too bad we just didn't smoke a blunt first, this could be fun if one was stoned."

"Sorry, I left my stash in my other jacket." smiled O'Bannon as Lisbon raised her eyebrows at Jane's reference to marijuana and his physician's quick response.

_Blunt, stash?_ She felt there were quite a few things she didn't know about her consultant's past, let alone his shrink's. _Best not to think on that one too hard,_ she decided.

"Perhaps we should get you a blanket. You need to be as comfortable as possible."

"If that's the case, could you get me a cup of tea?"

"When we're done, you can have all the tea you can hold." smiled O'Bannon as he looked toward Lisbon who rolled her green eyes at Jane.

The doctor reached for the intercom on the end table along with the small low-wattage lamp that provided a soft glow to the room. Pressing a button, he said, "Joanie?"

"Yes Doctor O?" came the disembodied voice along with the click and crackle of a surprisingly antiquated intercom system.

"Could you please bring Patrick a blanket? He's a little chilly."

"I'll have it to you in the next minute." she answered; the intercom the only 'un-soothing' sound in the room.

"No tea?" asked Jane sadly

"Sorry, no tea, Patrick" smiled O'Bannon

"We'll get some tea later, Jane" spoke Lisbon "Gallons of it. Even Earl Grey if you want."

She'd finally become used to drinking the bergamot flavored stuff. At first, she'd detested the perfumy taste but it kinda grew on her, as had the blonde man himself; perhaps to a disturbing extent, though it wasn't something she could consider right now . . . or maybe never.

...

It took several more minutes of the doctor speaking softly and soothingly. Lisbon could see Jane relax as the drugs took effect and, just maybe, the hypnosis. He lay with his eyes closed as though asleep.

He looked younger than his years without the stress he usually carried on his face. She hadn't noticed the difference until she saw him now without it, completely relaxed. Not for the first time, she thought how attractive he is; like a pretty package done up in beautiful paper and an exquisite ribbon. The ribbon was coming undone and inside the package was only pain, sadness and anger.

"Patrick, can you hear me?" asked O'Bannon.

"Umm, yes, of course I can hear you. You're right next to me." answered Jane in a sleepy sounding voice. O'Bannon smiled. Even under hypnosis, the man was still a condescending smart-ass.

"I want you to think about a time when you were a boy and you were having fun."

Jane's brow furrowed for a moment, then a smile came to his face.

"Danny and Neil and I are going to see if we can steal some apples from the orchard over there."

"What's happening now?"

"We pick them really fast and have a shitload of 'em in a pillow case. Uh-Oh, here comes the guy that owns the orchard. Run you guys!"

Jane laughs as though he's watching a funny movie. "Oh shit!" is his sudden exclamation and his face takes on a frightened expression.

"What's happened?"

"He caught Danny. Danny's not as fast as Neil and I. It's kinda funny but, we have to get him loose."

"What do you do?"

"I have the sack of apples. I open it and Neil and I start throwing them at the guy holding Danny. Hah, gotcha you bastard!"

"What happens to Danny?"

"I beaned the guy with one of the apples and when he went to grab his head, Danny got loose and split."

"How old are you and the others?"

"I'm thirteen, Neil's fourteen and Danny's almost twelve."

"Did you all get away?"

"Yeah, we're hiding behind Wanda's trailer. She's got snakes in a big cage back there. They can't hurt you unless you're really stupid but, nobody likes to go back there.

"What happened next?"

"That asshole went to my dad to tell him about the apples. Now, I'm gonna get it." His tone wasn't particularly alarmed. It sounded almost resigned.

"Were you punished?"

"Of course." answered Jane, as though the person asking the question was a little slow.

"How were you punished?"

"My dad beat the crap outta me. I'm kinda used to it though. It doesn't hurt that much anymore. Anyway, he doesn't hit me in the face; that would show. He got smarter about that. Not all the make-up in the world could hide what he did that one time. I couldn't go back to the show for at least a week. So now, it's not so bad."

Lisbon winced at hearing Jane's words about the punishment. No child should ever be 'kinda used' to being beaten or think the pain 'doesn't hurt that much'. Even though her own dad did his share of sometimes brutally, thumping his children, she knew it wasn't right then . . no matter how much your kid pisses you off.

"Patrick, I want you to go back farther. Younger than thirteen. Something that scared you."

Jane lets out a small cry and squirms uncomfortably on the couch.

"It's OK, you're safe here. Teresa's here with you too. We won't let anything bad happen to you. Just tell us about what's making you frightened."

Jane's breathing comes quick and shallow now and he shakes his head, no.

"It's OK, you can tell us."

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I can't, leave me alone."

"It's OK Patrick, you don't have to tell us now. Let's go forward again. Tell me about courting Angela. Were you happy then?"

"Oh, yeah. She's beautiful and smart and she loves me. In spite of everything, she loves me." he said almost in wonder.

"In spite of what?"

"In spite of her dad and mine. Her dad says that I'm only trouble and I'll make her unhappy and drag her down into the dirt I came from." his voice was angry now.

Lisbon, once again winced. Unfortunately, a lot of dads thought that of their daughter's suitors.

"What does you're dad say?"

"My dad?" Jane let out a snort. "My dad says I'm not even his and the only reason I'm even here is because I'm a good moneymaker. It's true, I make a lot of money being a psychic."

"What else?"

"I think it's probably true about being a bastard too. I don't look much like my 'father', he spat out the word as though it was an epithet."

This time, it was O'Bannon that frowned at the revelation. How this nearly feral child came to be so accomplished and knowledgable he had no idea; it was a miracle in itself.

"Does your father beat you a lot?"

"Only when I sort of deserve it."

"What makes you deserve to be beaten, Patrick?"

"You know, the usual stuff; smarting off, lying, stealing, smoking dope."

"I want you to go back farther, to the time when you were the most afraid. To the time when someone touched you."

"No"

"Patrick, we have to go back there. You have to tell us, Teresa and I, what happened that upset you so much about being touched.

"I can't."

"Of course you can. No one is going to hurt you now. It's only a memory. Nothing can hurt you. You're safe with me and Teresa."

He took a shuddering breath. His voice came out small and higher pitched than it's normal smooth, low timbre.

"He told me he'd kill me."

"Who told you that, Patrick?" asked O'Bannon, his own heart now thudding in his chest.

"My dad, he told me he'd kill me if I ever told."

Lisbon almost put her hands over her ears, this was way too much pain to be contained in one life.

"What did your dad do?"

"He killed them" whimpered Jane beginning to cry nearly silently. O'Bannon and Lisbon looked at each other, both sets of eyes widened in surprise. One couldn't tell who was more startled at the revelation, the experienced shrink or the experienced cop.

"Who did he kill, Patrick?"

"No, no, no!" he said in absolute terror his hands going to his head, holding them over his ears, turning onto his side to curl his body into a tight ball.

He repeated the word over and over. No matter what O'Bannon said, he couldn't get him to stop.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC - I know this is mean but just think of it as having an extra chapter. Sorry about the cliffie. This chapter was getting too long. Next one up in a couple of days, printer or not.


	23. Chapter 23

Blood Music - 23

**OK, here's the next to last chapter. Couldn't print a hard copy so there are probably some horrendous mistakes I didn't catch but don't let them ruin your day. This chapter kind of jumps around a bit. Hope it's not too hard to keep track of. Thank you for your reviews and comments. I always welcome them and would like to hear from you. I'd like to know what you thought about this one. I promised mega-angst. Not sure if I came through for you.**

**Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't need to worry about running up my air-conditioning bill. As you may have guessed, I make no money from this weirdness.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Dark Enough

The only light was the soft luminescence from the small lamp on the end table. There were no windows in this room.

The only sound was the breathless inhalation and exhalation of the man lying on the floor and that of the two people who sat on either side of him.

He was not uncomfortable. The carpeting beneath him was soft enough. He wasn't too warm or too cold. He wasn't dizzy. The only thing that made him uncomfortable was that he woke up on the damned floor . . . again!

"Why am I on the floor?" asked a slightly dazed Patrick Jane between breaths. His head did feel a little fuzzy for some reason.

"Just stay down, I'll explain in a moment. Let me finish catching my breath." panted Thomas O'Bannon who was, apparently, sitting beside him on the beige carpeting as well. He heard the breathing of another person to his left and turned his head to see a small, dark-haired woman similarly breathless.

_Shit._

They waited a few more moments until everyone was breathing normally or near to it; gathering their thoughts while waiting for pulses to cease racing.

Suddenly, Jane jerked upright, his face reflecting the horror of what had just been remembered.

...

Thirty-five years ago:

A six-year old child, was screaming "No! No! No!". There was a loud pop and the boy flinched but broke free from the hands that held him and launched himself at the man who held the gun.

"Hey! Grab 'im!" said someone from behind and he could feel hands clawing at him to get a grip on his small body. There were other hands as well, pulling him away, pinning him to the dirty floor as he struggled and screamed.

Now there were hands on his arms and legs, keeping him from fighting or running; keeping him from moving at all. He struggled harder, he screamed louder. He couldn't get away. They had him pressed to the floor.

He turned his head and saw grey/green eyes, their pupils large and fixed. He'd seen the curly haired man before, he'd been nice and brought books and candy at times. He lay in a large pool of red. He looked sad.

Beyond his body lay another. This one had soft golden hair but now it was mostly dark and sticky with more red. He couldn't see her face. He didn't know if she was sad as well. He thought she probably was.

At first there were two puddles of red; then, they mingled into just one. The still bodies seemed to be floating in it, weightless on a red background.

"Shut up you little bastard! Shut up!" yelled his father turning toward him and looking down. The boy tried to look away but, when he turned his head, all he could see were the sad eyes of the man lying next to him.

He looked back up at his father, the tall man's face angry and dark, his eyes scary. They usually looked blue but now, they looked almost black. _like Wanda's snakes _thought the boy.

The angry man lifted the gun that had been dangling at his side and pointed it. The barrel seeming to take all of the boy's focus into its dark opening.

"Shut up or you're next. You're just lucky I don't normally kill kids . . . even little bastards like you." he snarled.

The boy stopped screaming, stopped struggling. The hands still held him down but there was no need now. He lay still and looked up at the man who towered over him; who stared down with a look of disgust on his stubbled face.

"You ever tell anyone about this and you're dead too. Do you understand? I'll kill you as quick as look at you. Understand?"

He got no response. The small blonde boy lay limp and unmoving. No more screaming or crying or struggling. It was as though he wasn't there anymore, just his body was there with the hands holding onto it lest he try to escape again.

_The little bastard was tough._ He'd give him that. He sure didn't take after his mother except for the hair color. The stupid bitch would bang anyone who smiled at her. That's what Tim Corbin had done; smiled that big smile and she'd jumped on him faster than you could blink. He knew she'd been seeing him on the sly. Now they'd gotten what was coming to them. He and Froggie and Bill had seen to it.

Thomas Jane knew he shouldn't have married her but, lust is powerful thing. He had to own the impossibly beautiful woman with the soft gold hair and the lush body. He had to possess her so that no other man could have her . . _well, that hadn't worked out very well. Had it?_

The proof of that was lying at his feet on the dirty floor, looking up at him with those big eyes. They stared right through him. They stared upward at nothing. Weird kid. He wasn't dead, he could see the small chest rising and falling.

Hell, how could he have been so stupid! How could he have not seen it? The kid had green eyes, not blue like his or Anna's. He had curly blonde hair, not even remotely like his own straight black hair.

There was still no way to be sure. Now, the little bastard would be there every day to remind him but, he couldn't kill a kid, no matter what he'd threatened. He was no monster.

...

He remembered it now, the sound, the blood, the face of the man with sad grey/green eyes. He could still feel the hands holding him. The hands of his father's friends, (or accomplices, depends on how you looked at it.)

He never told anyone about it. As far as he knew, the bodies were never found. His dad had told everyone that his slut of a wife had run off with that guy she'd met a few years ago; the one that smiled a lot.

Eventually, the boy had put the memory away; locked it up tightly until it was inaccessible to the man he'd grown into. The only memory was that which his body held onto; the unwanted or unexpected touch that ignited anger and the desperate need to escape. Only that tactile memory remained. His skin had always remembered even if his mind could not.

...

"Patrick ? You OK now?" asked the little doctor.

"Depends how you define OK." came the calm voice from the floor.

"You're not going to reenact the 'Great Escape'?"

"Too tired. Too much work." said the voice again

"Let's get you up then." Both people reached down toward him. He took their hands without hesitating and they pulled him to his feet. It took him a moment to find his balance. He didn't feel quite right yet.

"So", he addressed them both as he stood straightening his vest and brushing off his pants, "How did I wind up on the floor?"

"All three of us wound up on the floor, do you remember?" said the stocky little doctor.

"Sorry. Did anyone get hurt?"

"We're fine, just a little more exercise than I'd planned on." smiled O'Bannon not without sincerity.

"You're sure I didn't hurt you?" asked Jane with a worried expression as he looked at the diminutive woman in front of him.

Lisbon huffed dismissivly as though an entire army of drugged, crazed consultants couldn't have gotten by her.

"It's OK Jane, I'm just glad you're back." said Lisbon as she evalutated her disheveled friend in return, then added with a smile "Told you so."

"Do you remember any of it?" asked O'Bannon.

"I remember a lot of things . . . all of them bad, really, really . . . bad." was the sad, hesitant answer.

He sat down once again on the couch, this time with Lisbon next to him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired and drained.

O'Bannon righted the chair that had obviously been knocked over in the struggle and straightened the shade on the lamp before he sat down with a sigh.

"Patrick, my friend." he smiled wearilly, "I think you've remembered what started all this. It was horrible and more than tragic but, you're here now. You're safe now. Do you understand that?"

Jane nodded silently. There was no need to bring up Red John and the safety thing. He'd save that for another day. A quieter day.

"I always wondered where my mother went. Now I know. In some weird kind of way, its a relief."

The two looked back at him like a pair of bobble-head bookends, nodding sadly in recognition of the emotion.

"We can start an investigation. Your dad is still out there isn't he?" said Lisbon

"He's still on the circuit somewhere last I heard but, I haven't actually talked with him in years. When Angie and I left that was the end of whatever dismal relationship I had with Thomas Alexander Jane" he looked down at the carpet, "When he . . . killed them, I don't know where we were, I mean what city or even state for that matter. I wouldn't even know where to look for her . . . them."

He sat looking dejectedly at the aqua and beige pattern, hands clasped loosely in front of him and elbows on knees. The IV cath was still in but, he hadn't even noticed it.

No one said anything else to say for a few minutes. No amount of comforting and reassurance could ever erase the painful, soul-destroying memories of the six-year old boy who didn't like to be touched.

_I'd have been OK without this. Maybe I could have worked out the touch issue without remembering . . . ever. Now what? I can't erase it. It will just be another act in the horror show of my nightmares. Maybe I should be glad I remembered but . . . now what?_

_..._

The next half hour was spent recounting to him his fierce, frantic struggle to escape the room when the memories came flooding back and overwhelmed him.

He'd, apparently, leaped up from the couch and made a dash for the door before Lisbon tackled him.

She kept hold of his legs and O'Bannon had him by the arms, it made him struggle all the more. Out of options, they both sat on top of him.

O'Bannon grabbed another of the syringes off the tray, thankfully the IV line hadn't been yanked out in the struggle, and had given him another dose of the sedative. They both continued to sit on him until he quieted down and stopped furiously thrashing around and yelling loudly to be let go; threatening them with all manner of things if they didn't comply.

The clear liquid was fast acting and short in its effect. It was only a few minutes later that he woke up on the floor.

He apologized and asked them again if he had hurt anyone. Lisbon just snorted. O'Bannon smiled and said it wasn't the first time one of his patients had decided to rabbit, though he did admire his patient's creative vocabulary during his threats.

It was still embarrassing.

...

The little doctor had removed the cath and put a large bandaid on the miniscule hole in his arm then wrapped it tightly to make sure the bleeding stopped as quickly as possible. It seemed ridiculously overdone for such a small wound but the man must know what he's doing. He'd trusted him with his mind, he supposed he could trust him with his arm.

"Patrick, I want you to get these prescriptions filled. The first one is a strong sleep aid but it's not addicting unless you take it for a long period of time. It should knock you on your ass for a good eight to twelve hours. The second one is to keep any nightmares at bay. It only works for a short time but, perhaps we can get those sorted out before it stops working. Go home, get some rest. We'll talk again on Monday. If you need anything before then, call me. OK?"

"I can't say it was a fun ride but, thank you, I think." said Jane with a tired smile, his face shadowed by exhaustion. "I have a lot to think about but, to quote Scarlet O'Hara . . . 'tomorrow is another day'."

"My favorite movie." said O'Bannon, "That and_ 'Blazing Saddles'_

"Come on, let's get you home." said Lisbon, almost grabbing Jane by the arm to pull him along as she usually did but, catching herself before she touched him.

Jane looked at her and then reached out and took her hand and placed it on his arm. It was a start. There was a long way to go but, it was a start.

The sky was beginning to darken as the little blue car with the dark-haired woman driver and her blonde male passenger pulled out of the underground garage. The stars weren't visible yet but, Jane knew they were there waiting for him like Angela. He had a lot to talk to her about. It just had to get dark enough first.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

TBC - Did you guys forget about the ring?


	24. Chapter 24

Blood Music - Chapter 24

**Was going to make it sort of an epilogue but, decided to put on a 'Hollywood' ending. Our hero really needed something other than angst . . . right? Don't be horrified. This isn't a romance because I don't write those but, it's as close as I ever get. Hope you don't find it too hokey. Let me know what you think.**

**Thank you all so much for enduring this too long and too slowly posted story. I loved hearing from you and thank you again for your reviews, alerts and favorites. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, never owned it, never made money from it and they never accepted my invitation to come live with me in my mansion in Beverly Hills. Perhaps the meds will kick in soon.**

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

Et Voila

Lisbon badgered him into agreeing to stop for something to eat. He was exhausted but hadn't eaten since the night before. The wings and claws in his stomach had prevented him from thinking about breakfast or lunch before his appointment with O'Bannon.

Right now, he only wanted to go lie down somewhere and become oblivious to the world; to his world; to his past. If there was a way to excise his entire life's history except for his wife and daughter and the too brief time they had together, he would do it . . . in a New York minute.

Their first stop was the pharmacy to get his scrips filled. Doctor O'Bannon had only alloted him enough sleep meds to get him through until his next appointment on Monday. The man wasn't taking any chances.

Jane only smiled to himself. If he'd wanted to complete his original quest for oblivion he has a large enough stash of pills to get it done. _The man was an amateur_, he smirked.

Jane actually did realize he, himself, hadn't been the ideal patient. Thomas C. O'Bannon was a good man and a good doctor but, he'd have to be a little sharper. _The good doctor has a way to go,_ smugly thought the blonde man.

Their next stop placed them at a 24-hour diner located on the main thoroughfare on the way to his apartment. It was a decent place for a meal. At one time, it had been part of a chain that sported a moose as its symbol. The new owners had kept the giant, plastic, illuminated moose head on the wall above the cash register and festooned its antlers with multi-colored Christmas lights. They stayed draped on the plastic animal year 'round. Jane believed it was to avoid any lawsuits over the trade-marked ungulate. He didn't know if the feeble disguise would cut it but, the whimsy of it greatly appealed to him.

The consultant had been disappointed the restaurant no longer made 'mooseburgers'. (He didn't think they were actually made of real moose) but, he liked the name anyway.

They settled for soup and salad. Their waitress a battle-hardened woman whose legs probably throbbed from varicose veins visible in spite of the almost opaque compression stockings she wore.

She smiled at Jane. Usually, he was alone and arrived quite late or in the early hours. They'd chat between her tending to coffee refills for the few customers who came in during those hours; mostly people who worked graveyard shifts or those who were awake for chemically induced reasons. She wasn't one to judge.

Through their ongoing conversations, Jane had learned she was from Minnesota. When asked if she missed living there, she looked at the blonde man as though he, himself, wore antlers sporting Christmas lights. Her exact words were "Why would I want to live in a place settled by nitwits who, apparently, were looking for a home with weather as fucked as where they came from?"

He found her observation amusing but, reminded her that the descendants of the original settlers of the area, mostly Swedes, would probably take exception to her belief about their forefather's and mother's pioneering skills.

She just laughed and told him her maiden name was Johansson which is the equivalent of Smith or Jones in Sweden. She married a man whose surname was Lindstrom and the two, without a pot to piss in, had escaped to California, never to look back.

Her husband had died in an auto accident a few years later and she stayed stayed on. "Besides"_,_ she said, "I couldn't leave Karl here alone. I go talk to him at the cemetery at least once a week and bring him flowers. You know, tell him the news about the family; weddings, babies, divorces. It's a different world now, sometimes it's babies, then the weddings.

He nodded in understanding. Several nights later, he gave her the 'Readers' Digest' version of his escape from the carny life with Angela. He only told her that his wife and daughter had died eight years ago, sparing her the details of their deaths. She could see the pain in his eyes and never asked him the manner in which they died. She knew about loss . . . too well.

Just two bereft people with sad stories here in the middle of the night with a plastic moose blinking cheerily over their heads.

She stood waiting expectantly after automatically bringing Jane a cup of tea; noting the striking woman with him. She asked what the petite woman wanted to drink and she answered; coffee, black. She looked like a no-nonsense sort of person who'd take her coffee black. She'd be good for the sometimes squirrely seeming blonde man. Much as she liked the man, in her opinion, he needed somebody strong enough to keep him grounded.

He and Lisbon placed their order and Nora brought them steaming bowls of soup and a basket of rolls that were made there in the restaurant.

Lisbon wasn't normally one to waste calories on bread but, the rolls were heavenly with a crispy outside and fluffy but substantial inside, not like the rolls one bought at the supermarket; tough on the outside and filled with honeycombed air. These were to die for.

"So," said Lisbon to the man across the table as she took a bite of the bread, "How are you feeling?" She felt, in light of all that had been revealed in O'Bannon's office, her question was tame enough.

"You mean now that I've discovered even more of my life was a lie and an incredible mess? Or that my supposed father had murdered my mother and her lover?"

He said it in a calm voice and didn't seem to need an answer; she thought the question only rhetorical. Lisbon sat looking across the Formica table at the man who met her eyes and didn't look away for a long moment.

"Definitely going to have to think about this for awhile. It's a lot more than I ever wanted to learn about my, so called, childhood." said Jane, lowering his eyes to his bowl of soup.

"We all have things we'd rather not remember. I know I do." she answered softly.

"Well, unless you were raised by wolves, I think I may win that particular contest." Looking up at her, he smiled without humor. "Actually, it would give perfectly lovely predators a bad name to compare them to my 'father'." Once more, he spat out that last word.

"I'll concede this one, Jane. Sadly, for once, you've got me beat." Lisbon replied with a humorless smile of her own.

He took that moment to reach into his pocket and pull out the gold band. He regarded it for a long moment, Lisbon mesmerized as well. Then, with a soft sigh, slipped it onto his finger. "For now." was all he said.

She didn't really know whether to be happy or not. Its return meant that he really hadn't gone any farther in his grief. It was a symbol of love but . . . not for any of the living.

He dipped his spoon into the soup and began to eat his dinner. After only a couple of spoons full, he paused with the utensil in mid-air.

"Teresa?"

"Yes?" she said, her eyebrows raising in question.

"Thank you."

...

As O'Bannon had told him they would, the sleeping pills did, indeed, knock him on his ass for several hours.

This was very strange; waking up without the 'start from minus' feeling which was his usual state when awakening. His normal sleep, if you could call it that, usually consisted of short periods between nightmares.

He no longer recognized this feeling of 'enough' sleep. Missing was the rawness of overly tired nerve endings that gave him the edge that prevented him from being too comfortable; too laid-back in his thinking. He didn't know if he liked it . . . it felt weird.

Lisbon had, thoughtfully, arranged for him to have the morning off. It was a good thing; he doubted he'd have been much good to anyone. He yawned and turned over, burrowing deeper into the warm bedding. Maybe he could get used to this.

...

Their mandatory sessions had come to an end and he hoped to get Patrick to agree to continue to see him. He actually looked forward to the sparring matches Jane still sometimes provided when he needed to confront an issue he'd rather avoid. The consultant seemed to veer from being brutally frank at times to not wanting to speak of the issue, at all. It was pretty much hit and miss, even on the good days.

The man had gone through nearly the entire library in the small office; devouring books like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

There were still many things Jane had to work out. He still continued to have regular conversations with his dead wife. It remained a little disturbing but, O'Bannon acknowledged; a good coping tool for the moment. Sleep was still a major issue. The nightmares needed to be dealt with. The drug that eliminated or reduced them was beginning to become ineffective.

Then, there was Red John. The very heart of his patient's lingering anger and self-loathing at not being able to protect his family. This obsession would never let him truly find some modicum of peace. Jane still swore to him the only thing that would stop his quest would be his own death or Red John's. Lots more work to do there . . . nope . . . definitely not healthy.

...

The attic was dim. Once again, he didn't bother to turn on the lights. He could hear the faint scrabble of mice in the darkness. He wondered if Lisbon knew about the rodents? If she did, she probably wasn't afraid. The woman wasn't afraid of much; certainly not of holding the hand of someone on his way to needing a rubber room.

He sat on his makeshift bed. He should go home but, he couldn't right now. He had to talk with her first. For some reason, she seemed to like the attic better than his apartment. She was truly an unusual woman and he would love her until his last breath. She'd witnessed him do things that would get most people strong censure . . . if not jail time. She knew of the ugliness of his past and loved him still.

She'd be here soon. He'd talk with Angela and get this sorted out. She'd know what to do.

...

The nights had lengthened. It was once again winter in California; a season that was pretty much the same as any other season in the Golden State, except one sometimes had to wear a jacket over one's board shorts and T-shirt.

Alone in his office, Thomas O'Bannon double checked his answers on the form before him. The one that would allow Patrick Jane to continue working for the CBI. Satisfied, he carefully signed it and slipped it into his out-box. Jane had a way to go but, for now, thought the psychiatrist, he'd remain functional and out of the hospital. A man with that much baggage in his past who could manage a, somewhat, 'normal' life was an extraordinarily resilient being. It had been close.

The touch issue was resolved or, at least, Jane didn't have a panic attack when anyone put a hand on him. The little doctor knew his patient still didn't much like it and possibly never would if the contact didn't come from someone he trusted but, he could cope.

He was an extraordinary person in other ways as well; incredibly perceptive of small, unconscious, mannerisms or 'tells' as he called them and ruthless about using them to his advantage. Jane had given his doctor a run for his money.

So far, the consultant had been gentle enough in his observations of his doctor.

According to the blonde man's conclusions, O'Bannon had come from a large family, very probably with many younger siblings as evidenced by his seeming natural ability to ignore the sometimes 'dramatically presented issues' of his patients. Parents or siblings in large families were much better at handling chaos and temper tantrums.

He also concluded, the little doctor had been married for many years. _That one wasn't too hard to guess, _thought O'Bannon. Jane said it was evidenced by his doctor's obvious lack of concern about his weight, as he had no need to compete for a mate. Also, the uneven thickness of his wedding band, (it had become quite thinner on one side than the other) took many years of wear.

He said O'Bannon had, not very long ago, come from a colder climate as evidenced by the fabric of his suits. It was much too heavy for California and since people with 'a little more insulation' on their bodies as he'd termed it, were prone to becoming warm very quickly, the good doctor hadn't had time to change his wardrobe to accommodate the milder climate.

Not startling revelations but, still kind of creepy. He would miss their contests if Jane chose not to continue the sessions.

_The thing about the weight did sting a little though._

...

"Paddy, she's a good match for you. She's tough and she won't put up with any of your crap. She's fierce and loyal and kind . . . and she's quite attractive." (OK, that last part was probably mostly his input.)

"I've pleaded with you so many times to give up this quest for revenge. You know it can't make me come back to you; it won't make Charlotte come back. My love, you're only damaging yourself. You can't believe that your only reason for living is to make sure that evil is creature dead!" she said with exasperation, then adding, "That's just crazy."

"Yeah, that's what the doctor tells me."

"You have other things to live for. You have your work. You have your friends. If you'd get off your butt, you'd have Teresa."

"Let's not get carried away, woman!"

"Paddy, it's time to let us go. It's time to make another life. Remember us, yes, but, live your life! Don't spend it on something that will never ever bring you what you truly want or need. Teresa cares for you. Don't screw this up, Paddy."

"I'll think about it." was his only reply in the dark attic.

She stood in front of him; looking at him with her lovely but sad brown eyes. She shimmered with light. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. Then, his wife faded into the darkness and he was alone again.

...

Daylight was becoming shorter and the weather becoming cooler. It looked as though this was going to be a wet winter.

Steel grey clouds sailed the sky; the lower portions of the feathery formations gathered against the foothills and cloaked them in a mist worthy of the English moors.

Patrick Jane stood on the roof of HQ looking out over the city. It was still light out but, he actually couldn't see much of it. The glow of lights that filtered through the moisture laden veil made the cityscape look like a faded watercolor.

He loved the way it deadened sound; that it wrapped him in its cool, softness and made it seem he was the only one in the world who stood looking out at the almost invisible hills beyond the city as he pondered what the hell to do with his life.

The past few weeks had been brutal. O'Bannon had been absolutely correct in his statement about 'feeling worse before you feel better'. The man was relentless in prying out every miserable little detail of his miserable little life. Jane didn't think he could feel any worse . . of course he managed to do just that.

In the 'Worse' column:

To have it all but confirmed by DNA, he truly was a bastard in its original meaning.

To, finally, fully accept that the man in whose custody he'd been for sixteen years, (he would never again think of him as his father), was a malicious monster and none of the brutal behavior that had been directed at his 'son' was deserved. (Jane also recognized the irony of mistreated children is that they are like beaten dogs who still remain loyal to their master).

'Worse' certainly had to include the 'piece de resistance': the memory of being restrained while your, so called, father killed your mother and, quite possibly, your biological father in cold blood. _Well, it was actually a crime of passion he supposed, that would be 'hot' blood wouldn't it?_

In the 'Better' column:

He now knew his mother hadn't abandoned him. He hadn't done anything to make her go away, as the man who raised him had frequently told him he had.

The man who raised him wasn't his father._ I know_, he thought, _I've also included this in the 'worse' column as well. Just depends on one's perspective._

There was even the possibility his biological father had actually cared about him enough to continue to visit and bring gifts for the son he couldn't raise. (Of course, it also brought up the possibility that he was the son the man d_idn't want_ to raise). _Better move that last bit to the 'worse' category,_ was his thought.

Lastly and most importantly; 'Better' was the one, stone-solid, thing that couldn't be doubted . . . he had friends who cared about him . . . and he had Lisbon. He couldn't call her just a 'friend' she was more than that. He needed to speak again with Angela about her.

...

The rain came down in sheets. It was as though The Almighty, once again, had a plan to wash them away and start over.

Lisbon and her consultant were on their way back from Dr. Jerrold H. (Jerry) Miller's long delayed trial. It looked as though Lisbon may get her wish. Jerry may be going to jail for quite awhile; having been convicted of the attempted murder of one Patrick Jane, (among other things), in spite of his high priced defense team.

CBI's other three agents had give their testimony earlier in the week. The bartender, whose name turned out to be Alvin Godown, (no kidding), had already been convicted as an accomplice and had begun serving his time.

Teresa Lisbon squinted through the windshield; reducing her speed until it was no more than a crawl. There was too much water to either be absorbed quickly or to run off into the inadequate storm drain system without first pooling on the roadways.

There was almost nothing visible ahead of them. Her consultant leaned forward to try to peer through the cascade. He thought he saw the red glow of taillights ahead but, when he blinked and looked again, they'd disappeared.

Lisbon drove slowly forward; not wanting to go any faster through the almost completely concealing curtain of water.

"Lisbon!" yelled her consultant as he saw the road end abruptly before them.

She stepped on the brake pedal and the SUV slid forward a few more feet before stopping; its front bumper nearly at the edge of the broken concrete that would, normally, have been a small bridge spanning a creek.

As quickly as the car came to a halt, Lisbon yelled to him, "We've got to get this road closed off before someone lands in the creek!"

She maneuvered the large vehicle a few feet backward and to the side. Hurriedly, they both jumped out and shielding their eyes from the pouring water, opened the rear hatch and quickly pulled up the mat to expose the storage compartment in which some of the roadway emergency equipment was stored.

Taking the triangular reflectors and flares, they set them up several feet behind the SUV. As Jane set the last reflector onto the asphalt, he thought he heard someone calling. He straightened and listened more closely but, could only hear the loud pounding of the rain. Squinting his eyes, he could see nothing ahead other than the abrupt edge of the concrete. He turned back toward Lisbon to help with the flares.

He heard it again. Someone in the distance was yelling "Help us!" It came through loudly enough for him to locate its source. It came from beyond the broken bridge. He rushed to the edge of the bank and looked downward. He could make out a white van, mostly submerged in the narrow cement lined creek through which rushed an alarming torrent of water.

"Help!" he heard a woman's desperate voice. He could barely make her out on the other side of the creek; hysterically waving her arms and looking as though she was about to jump back into the swollen creek.

"Stay there!" yelled Jane to the distraught woman.

"My daughter! She's still in the car! She's still in there! Help us! Help us!"

"Lisbon! Come here quickly! Lisbon!" Jane yelled as he turned back toward the road.

Teresa Lisbon ran up to him and took in the scene. Thankfully, the rain chose that moment to lessen slightly; providing enough respite to see more easily through the downpour.

There, in the creek, sat a white van; nose down. Its rear window just barely above the rushing water. To her horror, she saw small hands pressed against the glass.

Before she could even react, from the corner of her vision, she saw a flash of someone leaping into the water. It was Jane.

With strong strokes, he swam toward the nearly submerged vehicle. She didn't know if he'd planned it that way or not but, he'd jumped in a little upstream and the torrent carried him against the side of the van. He caught the roof rack before he was swept away and using it for handholds, made his way to the back end and pulled himself onto its mostly submerged roof.

She gasped as he slipped off it but caught hold again and made his way back to his precarious perch.

By now, there were several others lined up on the banks on both sides, yelling encouragement. One of them rushed back toward his pickup and brought a coil of sturdy looking rope. He cast the end of it toward Jane who was now kneeling on top of the van.

There was a child looking up at him with huge, terrified eyes. He could see it was a girl of about four or five. Obviously a pocket of air keeping her from drowning.

He heard a yell and looked up to find a man on the bank above him about to throw a rope. He held one arm upward, using the other to keep hold of the roof rack to prevent himself from being swept off the van.

The first toss landed in the water. The small, dark man who threw it, quickly reeled it back in for another attempt.

The second toss was accurate enough but it slipped through Jane's cold and stiffening fingers.

People on the bank yelled their encouragement. The child's terrified eyes locked on his.

The third try was successful. Jane managed to grab the rope and hold onto it. He quickly tied its end to the roof rack; hearing faint cheers from both sides of the bank.

"Jane!" he now heard Lisbon's voice. "Hold on! Fire department on the way!"

There wasn't enough time to wait. He had to get the girl out before the van finished filling with water and sank beneath the surface. He had to find the opening through which the mother had escaped. It made the most sense that it was the driver's window. He took a deep breath and holding onto whatever he could, submerged himself to find the opening.

The water tried to tear him away but he held on tightly. He could see the window halfway open. It had been large enough for the woman to emerge but it wasn't large enough for him.

His lungs beginning to burn, he surfaced gasping for air. Climbing back onto the van, he yelled toward those anxiously watching, "Get me something to break the window! Hurry!"

Three of the people standing there scurried away and out of sight. The first one returned with a hammer. The second had a baseball bat and the third - a crowbar.

"Slip the crowbar down the rope!" he yelled as loudly as he could. The woman who held it heard him and hooked it onto the rope, quickly knotting around it another short piece of rope someone had handed her to make sure the tool didn't come loose and sink to the bottom of the channel.

Since the bank was higher than the van, the crowbar easily slid down the wet rope and Jane caught it. He used his teeth and the hand he wasn't using to hold on for dear life to untie the loose knot, thankful that the woman had sense to not tie it too tight.

Aware that if he broke out the rear window, the van would immediately fill with water, he tensed himself, nearly losing his balance again. He frantically motioned for the girl to move as far to the side as she could and was surprised when she actually did it.

He began swinging the crowbar as hard as he could. Initially, it just bounced off the safety glass. He swung it again, grunting with the effort. The glass starred and began to separate into jagged little pebbles. His next swing created a small hole, then with another swing, a larger one. He gripped the edges of the broken window and tugged, his numb hands not feeling the glass cut into them as he pulled outward. Water poured through the opening and the girl popped up like a cork. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her against him.

He heard the sound of sirens as a fire truck pulled up to the bank behind him and then, moments later, heard another on the opposite bank.

He could feel the child sobbing into his already sodden shirt as she trembled from fright and, probably, hypothermia as well. He could also feel the van sinking lower into the swirling water.

Aware of a loud pop from the bank on which Lisbon waited, it startled him and he almost lost his balance again.

"Hold on buddy! We'll be there in a minute!" yelled a voice that must belong to one of the firemen. Jane realized the pop was the sound of the device that propelled a line from one bank to the other. As soon as both ends were secured, two firemen; one from each side clipped themselves to it and traveled hand over hand toward them.

The first to reach them grabbed the girl who was now screaming for her mommy as she nearly had to be pried from his arms. The second fireman immediately grabbed him and held on while he fastened a rescue harness around him.

The first man secured the child and, with her clinging like a barnacle to his chest, pulled her back with him toward the bank and her distraught mother.

Jane didn't have to exert himself this time which was a very good thing because every muscle was trembling from the cold and effort. There was another cable attached to a pulley to which his harness was attached. He could see Lisbon standing on the bank and looking like a drowned rat. Her tense expression slowly gave way to a large smile as he came closer to her. He felt he hadn't seen anything so lovely in years.

Hands grabbed for him and he was settled on the broken asphalt. Someone put a blanket around his shoulders and many other hands clapped him on the back or shoulder in congratulations. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile at Lisbon. Her face had, once again, become tense. He knew she was waiting for him to freak. He took a deep breath and gave her a shaky smile. He was good for now.

...

She waited anxiously. She knew it had been foolish of him to jump in but, she knew he couldn't do otherwise. The dark-haired woman held her own breath as she saw him go beneath the water and only released it when she saw him pop up again to successfully scramble for purchase on the van.

For the child's sake and his own, he had to save her; if he failed, she didn't know what would happen to his hard-won and still fragile stability. It seemed she didn't breathe again until his feet touched the earth and uniformed people began to undo the harness. One of them threw a blanket over his shoulders as he sat abruptly on the ground, looking as though his legs failed to support him.

She fought her way through the well-wishers that surrounded him; clapping him on the back and shoulders in jubilation; finally resorting to yelling with authority, "CBI! Out of the way!"

They parted like a swath cut in a wheatfield and she knelt beside him and saw him grin when he realized who had plopped down next to him.

"You OK?"

"Of course Lisbon, just another day in the life of a superhero." he grinned, shivering slightly. "Do you think someone could get me a cup of tea?"

She held her arms out to him and he let her pull him closer, their clothing made wet, squishy sounds between them. The rain, once more, began to pour down in thundering buckets but, neither of them really noticed.

...

He lay contentedly on his couch. He was warm and dry. The girl from the creek was safely in the arms of her mother. His team bustled around him tending the business that kept them employed. He was enveloped in the warm and fuzzies.

In a little while, he'd go lie down on Lisbon's couch and pretend to sleep while she worked. Maybe he'd even sneakily lean over her to smell her hair. That would be nice.

Angela had given her blessing. As soon as the Red John thing was taken care of, providing he survived it, he'd maybe _"Get off his butt"_ as she'd said. The woman was nothing if not stubborn but, to once again quote a very famous line,_'Tomorrow is another day'._

...

He felt a hand on his arm. It didn't make him cringe or run or faint or anything like that. It was a small, strong hand. It belonged to a dark-haired woman who'd stuck by him in spite of everything. Who hadn't been scared off by the demons that sought to drag him back into insanity. She'd stood with him to fend them off. The woman was one tough little cookie . . . _and quite beautiful_, he thought.

With arms around each other companionably, they stood that way for a long time looking out out over the city which pulsed away in the darkness.

If she could wait for him, when next he took off his ring, it would be for her.

*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*CBI*

**I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think even if you didn't.**

**New story should be up in about three weeks, possibly sooner.**


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